If Wishes Were (Insert Some Fancy Word Here)
by Lilith Duvare
Summary: This is a collection of snippets/chapters of my unpublished works. Most of them are centered around Harry Potter, but there are some that are set in entirely different fandoms with their characters or is a crossover. Still, I hope you'll like them as this is my Advent gift for your guys. They are supposed to be SLASH fics, but none of them are detailed enough for that.
1. The Spotty Dragon (HarryJasper)

_**A/N: **__This is the first instalment of my Advent gift for you guys. There are going to be 24 snippets/chapters in this little collection, every one of them from a story you have never seen before, but hopefully one day I will be able complete and publish as independent stories. However, I have an announcement on my profile too, a little something, you guys might find interesting. I don't want to spoil the surprise, but it has to do with the possibility of an already existing folder full of my unpublished works. If I managed to pique your curiosity, feel free to check my announcement out. _

_**A/N: **__Oh, none of these snippets/chapters are beta'd, so sorry about any mistakes and errors you might find while reading. _

**The Spotty Dragon**

_**Summary: **__Instead of nearly attacking Bella, Jasper used the last ounces of his self-control and left the house altogether, only to somehow end up in Seattle in front of a dingy little bar called The Spotty Dragon that had the most peculiar patrons and the strangest yet most enticing bartender Jasper ever met. _

He couldn't stand it anymore. The temptation was too great and his goddamned family

didn't do a thing to lessen it. His brother, the ever so broody Edward just had to choose

an insufferable human girl, obsessing over her and believing to be in earth shattering love

with her. Edward didn't care about anything anymore, not about their safety or their secret,

flaunting it into that mortal's face who had that brilliant idea to become one of them.

Ridiculous.

Edward was too much of a coward who clung to the girl's mortality too desperately to oblige

this wish, unconsciously torturing him to the point where he snapped. Like a few minutes ago.

He almost attacked the stupid human, because she was the epitome of clumsiness and was

unable to hold a knife without fucking cutting into her skin. Or did she do it on purpose? Was

she hoping that one of them – preferably Edward – will snap and turn him?

Well he almost did.

He acted in the millisecond between Alice's astonished and terrified gasp and the tantalizing

scent of freshly shed blood filling the air, his eyes most likely bled into onyx as he tore out of

the house running and snarling at the same time, hoping to get away from the family and that

girl. He didn't need Edward's ability to know what would have happened if he had lost his

mind before he understood the meaning of Alice's gasp. The outcome might have taught his

brother why he should avoid humans at all cost, but it would surely have destroyed their unity

once and for all. Because no matter what the annoying little chit thought, if he had attacked

her, there would have been no turning happening. She would have been a simple meal to him.

Nothing more.

But he didn't do it. He escaped and now was headed towards nowhere particular. He just

wanted to get away from everything, including his own wife and her overbearing hopes and

infatuation with the mortal girl, as well as Edward's obsession and delusions, and Rosalie's

bitchiness, no matter how rightful it was this time.

He had enough of the facade of being human, pretending to be something they most clearly

weren't, as well as of the expectations and Carlisle's constant understanding, but underlying

disappointment whenever he slipped. He wanted to be free to do as he wanted and be the

creature he was turned to be.

Perhaps he was selfish, but at that moment he just couldn't muster up any compassion to care.

Cars flashed by as he run with impossible speed across the forest, following the route of the

road ignoring the maddening burn in his throat. There was no chance a few deer or even a

bear could sooth his hunger.

Soon the trees started to narrow, giving place to houses and other buildings and the deafening

noise of the city. The smell of pollution, rotting garbage, food, cars could almost mask the

scent of flooding blood, making his nose flare with disgust mixed with interest and want. He

knew he was only antagonizing himself, mocking the monster in him and a part of him was

cruelly satisfied with his bestial part's struggles.

Should he choose someone? He wondered idly, slowing his pace into a leisure stroll. No one

could stop him and it would be a fitting pay back for his suffering. It would show precious

Isabella what being a vampire meant.

A cold smirk quirked his lips at the thought. Yes, it would be perfect payback, yet he knew he

wouldn't do it. Clueless mortals walked by, not even giving him a fleeting glance, minding

their own business full of giddiness and excitement which started to overwhelm his own

chaotic emotions and bloodlust, distracting him and at the same time giving him the idea what

he should do.

He needed a drink.

**[The Spotty Dragon]**

Seattle had a wide range of bars, almost all of them full of life on Friday night, causing his

head to become fuzzy with the raging emotions of the mortals in them. He could choose

any of them, none was different than the previous one or so he thought until he reached

surprisingly run down place that oozed silence... and stillness.

_The Spotty Dragon_

He blinked at the big, blue neon letters then blinked again, but no, he read the name of the

bar correctly. There was no line waiting in front of the shabby looking place and he couldn't

see through the dirty windows either, but something just called to him in despite the lack of

welcoming air.

He took an unnecessary breath, swallowing the venom from his mouth before gingerly

pushing the black, cracked door open, expecting a dimly lit up hole with a bunch of old

drunkards and maybe a few cheap women with a toothless ancient geezer as the bartender.

What he found was different.

So different that he felt his eyes widen and the breath hitch in his lungs. The bar wasn't full

per se, but it wasn't empty either. People of all age mingled about, sitting in comfortable

looking booths or at simple but clean tables, chatting and drinking merrily. Music played

in the background, soft but strong melodies that vaguely sounded similar to rock but were

somewhat different. It felt... homey, but at the same time something seemed off.

"Shut the door sonny! It's friggin' freezin' outside!" grunted an older man from a near table,

his muddy brown eyes slightly hazed with tipsiness and tiredness.

He reacted without a second thought, closing the door and walking toward the bar where

bunch of giggling women and a few young men sat amicably chatting up someone who he

couldn't see yet, but suspected was the bartender; not that he cared.

He refrained from breathing, he might have been brave or stupid enough to mingle with

humans in his state, but he didn't trust the monster in him not to cause a massacre if he caught

the maddeningly seductive smell of blood. He didn't care that probably he looked strange,

holding his breathe, but he was sure that in the dimly lit place no one would notice this little

detail about him.

He walked over the farthest end of the counter, separating himself from the mortals, not

caring about the curious stares and excited whispers that surrounded him. The blood lust was

still there, teasing him and urging him to feed, but he just wouldn't do it. He couldn't bear

the thought of drinking animal blood at the moment and no matter how much he wanted it,

humans were still taboo for him.

"What can I get you?" A soft, slightly husky voice sneaked into his ear, breaking through the

blocks over his mind.

He looked up, demonic black eyes meeting with glowing emeralds that surprised him with

their close proximity. The owner of said orbs looked young, maybe not older than twenty

with a messy mop of black hair, a heart shaped face, high cheekbones and a button nose

which made a quite appealing picture together. However it wasn't the boy's features, but the

intensive smell of raging thunder finding its way into his nose, despite his carefulness, that

caught his attention. That and the lack of emotions coming from the young barkeeper.

The nameless human cocked an eyebrow, still waiting for his reply and he had to swallow

the sudden surge of venom that pooled from his throat as a twenty-something looking woman

sat on the stool on his left side leaning as close to him as she could, making him draw an

unintentional breathe only to be attacked by the spicy aroma of her life force which ripped

a low growl from his throat even though he could feel something wasn't quite right with the

scent.

"The strongest," he rasped finally. His fingers were digging into the top of the counter, and

he could barely restrain himself from losing the last ounce of his self-control and draining the

woman and the entire place dry.

The boy didn't ask if he was alright, just like his viridian orbs didn't show any concern or for

that matter anything at all. He was smiling a small, sincere if a bit dry smile, but he couldn't

feel any emotion oozing from the bartender even as he nodded and turned away from him,

allowing the woman on his left to reach out for his arm, coyly scraping her longish red nails

over the fabric of his shirt.

"Hey there, sweet boy," she purred, leaning impossibly close to him causing his fingers to

clench into fist in an attempt to stop himself from grabbing the human by her fragile little

neck and biting into the tantalizing warm flesh.

He gritted his teeth, flashing his feral, black eyes towards the red haired wench and smirking

cruelly, making her flinch even though her seductive smile didn't disappear.

"Oh so you're the dangerous type, eh?" she murmured, licking her lips. "My favourite."

He raised an eyebrow mockingly, his gaze raking through her scarcely clad frame, blood red

painted lips and boring brown irises that were lined with black kohl, trying to enhance her

otherwise lifeless gaze.

"Unhand me," he demanded with a sneer.

"Aw, come on, you know that you want it too! Sitting here all alone and lonely, you just–"

She faltered at the venomous glare he sent in her direction.

"I said unhand me and I will not ask again," he hissed through his gritted teeth, his sweet

smelling breathe wafting over the woman's face dazzling her and causing her emotions to go

haywire.

"What will you do then?" she whispered, excitement and pure lust rolling off her, yet

underneath all of the disgusting human desires laid something cold and unmoving.

"I will slowly tear you apart. Ripping your limbs out one by one, while I'll bask in your

tortured screams," he murmured into the human's ear, too softly for anyone else to hear and

she squeaked then fled without another word, her empty eyes full of fear.

"I see you've met with Maribelle." He wondered if the young human's voice had become

husky from too much torture inducted screaming, but dismissed the idea almost as fast as it

came to his mind. "Here's your drink," the boy said when he didn't look up or answered.

He was in no mood for idle conversations with strange smelling bartenders and it seemed the

human got his silent message because he just put the glass down in front of him and walked

away to serve the other patrons with a barely audible sigh.

He looked at the spotless glass on the top of the counter, his hand reaching for it almost

unconsciously sloshing the amber liquid which was so similar to the colour his eyes should

have been that it was almost painful. A painful reminder of the caged, forced lifestyle he

accepted for something that never seemed to be really true.

He wasn't afraid or worried about drinking the liquor that smelled of strong alcohol and

malt and oddly enough honey, he knew it would taste just like everything else: dirt. And the

alcohol would not cause him to lose control over his body either, but he felt like pretending to be at least a

little bit human... a real human not a half-assed puppet he had to act around his family and the

humans at school.

Drinking was something Alice and the others wouldn't approve of, and he felt delightfully

deviant as he lifted the glass to his lips and gulped down the whiskey at one go... Only to gasp

in bewilderment as the fluid burned its way down his throat carrying the first real flavour

aside from blood he could taste in the last two hundred years: malt and honey and alcohol.

His eyes snapped toward the bartender who was chatting with a middle-aged man at one of

the tables, pink lips pulled into an amused smile, before the boy jotted down something into

his little notepad, nodding to the older human, who smirked back, molten silver eyes alit with

arrogance and expectation, causing him to try to seek out the man's emotions, finding nothing

but an ounce of lust and a sea of resentment laced resignation.

He narrowed his dark gaze in suspicion, examining the haughty aristocratic features, the long,

straight nose, the flawless ivory skin and pointy chin that was framed with long luscious,

silvery blond hair and couldn't help but found the man severely out of place with his self-

importance and expensive looking clothes and snake-headed cane, which only made him even

more suspicious of the strange human.

What could the mortal want from the young bartender? Did he mean any harm? He mused,

a part of him wanting to find out more even though he had no reason to. He shouldn't have

minded the business of mere mortals, and he had no intention to pay attention either, yet for

some reason both the green-eyed boy and the conceited man seemed to hide something under

the empty smiles and emotion free expressions.

"Want another?" He was slightly startled by that hoarse voice which was another new

experience; no one could sneak upon him in a very long time.

He stared at his empty glass for a moment, pondering about his options, then shook his head

and stood up.

"One was enough," he muttered, even if he knew it was a lie.

"Come back whenever you feel the need." The boy didn't try to detain him which was another

surprise, and he nodded before putting down some notes on the counter, knowing it was way

too much for a simple whiskey.

He didn't care.


	2. Behind Closed Doors (HarryTom Riddle)

_**Behind closed doors**_

**Summary: **_Voldemort died on the night when he tried to kill Harry Potter, so the Wizarding World lives in peace. Harry is still the Boy-Who-Lived and his fame have yet to diminish after seventeen long years, but the boy has enough of the life of the rich and famous. He despises the people who only can see his scar and try to befriend him for their own gain. Harry is lonely and depressed and he only finds peace in wandering in the halls of Hogwarts at night. However one night he finds himself in an unfamiliar corridor, right in front of an unfamiliar door... _

**Genre:**_ angst, hurt/comfort, romance, one-shot_

**Warnings: **_Slash, AU, not so explicit sex between two men (don't like, don't read) _

**Pairing: **_Harry Potter/Tom Riddle Jr._

**Rating: **_MA (well, I think it MA or maybe a simple M, but better be safe, than sorry)_

**Disclaimer: **_I don't own anything besides the plot of this little story. And no I still don't get any money for this, which is depressing, but I still haven't written my own novel, so I can't do anything._

**A/N: **_Hey guys, _

_This is the first part of your Christmas present from me. I worked really hard on it. Btw I have some more good news for you. I'll try to finish the new chapter of Endless Dawn tomorrow as well as one more chapter on Monday, so eventually you'll get a lot of reading material from me. I'll update my profile tomorrow too, so if you're interested in my ramblings, watch out for it. _

**Part I.**

He didn't know what he was doing in that corridor as it was completely unfamiliar to him. Which was a really big thing considering that he had roamed the halls of Hogwarts every night for six years now, hoping it would lighten his constant insomnia. Naturally he didn't speak about these little trips, not even to Hermione or Ron. Although these days it didn't matter what he was doing because the two lovebirds had eyes only for each other.

Yes, he, the Great Harry Potter, the Baby Savour of the Wizarding World and Every Girl's Dream was lonely and he couldn't do anything about it, because, deep down, he was happy for his friends, even if it meant he had no one. They had been going out for only two months now and he understood perfectly that they still couldn't see through the pink fog. With a resigned sigh Harry looked around, but he only saw bare stonewalls and a few suits of armour in the dim light.

There weren't any torches, not even candles that could have offered some light, just the Moon, which was looking down at him with her never ending patience and wisdom. The boy knew he should turn back and leave this surreal place behind, however a seducing little voice in the back of his head told him to break into this unknown, strangely exciting world; to explore this foreign, alluring realm and find... the only thing he was looking for all this time.

He stepped forward without knowing what he was looking for. The tender arms of the Moon embraced his thin figure with an almost motherly concern; translucent fingers caressed his pale face, stroked his raven hair and showed him the right path at the same time.

Harry was surprised when he saw the plain oak door for the first time, as he was almost at the end of the corridor and he had started to lose hope that he would find anything at all. For some unknown reason, his knees went weak and the freezing fingers of fear crawled down his spine as he reached for the door knob.

Steel met with skin and heavy wood fought with cold stone... and an entirely other world.

The young wizard expected many things; like unused classrooms, storage rooms and even guest rooms, but the place he saw surpassed everything he could ever think of. The bedroom – yes, it was a bedroom – seemed like a perfect replica from the pages of the Tale of One Thousand and One Nights. Flaming, blood-and-crimson red drapes hung everywhere and it felt like he was in the centre of a living, dancing flame. Tons of floating candles and a huge fireplace served as the only sources of the light, giving a mysterious and intimate feeling to the room. It was seductive, inviting, arousing and at the same time, totally frightening. It carried the chance of a new adventure...

The door closed behind him without a sound as he entered the room without a second thought, however the next moment he was lying on his back, a sharp dagger pressing into the tender flesh of his neck. The emerald eyes widened with fear as they saw the terrifyingly beautiful onyx-eyed beast that was hovering over the boy.

The creature's face seemed gorgeous with its wildness and vicious scowl; long, raven black locks teased Harry's face as his attacker leant forward to study him, before...before it straightened up and after a moment's hesitation offered a helpful hand to him. And Harry then realized he had been attacked by a simple – although quite unique – young man instead of an almighty, dangerously enchanting ethereal creature, like he had thought moments before.

The wizard cleared his throat self-consciously and looked at the other boy who was at least one head taller than him through his lashes. The nameless boy was alluring with his dark, mysterious eyes; creamy white skin; long tresses which reached the middle of his back and crimson sleeping pants.

"Who are you?" asked the stranger with narrowed eyes, studying him with suspicion.

"I'm Harry," he answered a little huskily, purposely not mentioning his surname.

"And what are you doing here? The old bastard sent you, didn't he?" hissed the other with great accusation in his voice.

"I..." Harry didn't know what he should say. He didn't search for that blasted corridor, he'd just found himself there. Hell, he'd just wanted to take a walk and think about his miserable, pathetic life in peace. "I think it was an accident." A shy smile appeared in the corner of his mouth.

"An accident..." mocked the black eyed boy with a sardonic smirk of his own.

"Well...Um... Yes. I wanted to be alone for a while and... Well the corridor just popped out of nowhere." He started to feel really stupid as he tried to explain the impossible and that tauntingly smirking bastard didn't help at all.

"Is it common for you for corridors to pop out from nowhere?" the boy asked curiously.

"Um... sometimes... okay this was the first time I wasn't looking for it, but yeah it happens," he confessed embarrassedly.

"Really interesting." The night-like eyes were filled with interest. "Why don't you tell me about your little... expeditions, Harry?" The stranger's voice developed a soft hissing tinge.

"I... Who are you?" Harry asked instead of spilling his whole life story rashly to the nameless, unknown boy.

"You can call me Tom, but perhaps, we should sit down." The boy – no, Tom, led him to the huge, comfortable looking cushions in front of the fire place.

Harry could only nod as he was eying the silver dagger – which was still in Tom's hand – which was painted in crimson and orange by the flames of the hearth, scaring him a little. However he put on his bravest face and walked to the red cushions as confidently as he could, questioning his own sanity on the short path.

Tom sat next to him, their legs almost touching. Harry thought those black eyes flashed red for a moment, but then he realized it was caused by the play of the fire. The other made him nervous and that predatory gaze just made the things worse, because he felt like he was the prey and he hated the feeling.

"You are a student here, right? Maybe you even graduate this year..." The older boy purred and he couldn't suppress the shiver which ran through his body.

"I... Yes," Harry nodded lamely, silently berating himself for his pitiful answers.

For some reason he wanted to impress the owner of the mysterious room. He wanted Tom to drink his every word; to pay attention to him; to praise him; to smile at him... He was an idiot, just like Snape said all the time. Why would a man like Tom pay attention to a blabbering, stupid moron, like him? The other didn't know he was the _great_ Harry Potter, so why would he listen to him?

"So, tell me, Harry, do you like the school?" The question pulled him back from his depressive thoughts.

"I loved it." Harry's eyes were filled with sadness, while Tom's were full of avid curiosity.

"You don't love it now?" came the next question instantly.

"I don't know," he sighed.

"You don't know?"

"Your parroting is really frustrating you know," Harry said, trying to win some time.

"Just answer the question," shrugged Tom nonchalantly.

"But I don't... It's just hard..."

"Why don't you tell me about it? They say it should help," urged the black eyed man.

"It's just hard for me. Hogwarts was my home since I came here... no, since I got the letter. But now, everything is different," Harry tried his best to explain his chaotic feelings, but he just couldn't catch the right words for it. Then something struck his mind. "Do you live here? Why don't you attend to classes? And why are you _here_ at all?"

"Me? Oh yes, I live here, but the why doesn't matter. I would rather hear more about you. So why don't you tell me more? What has changed, Harry?" Tom's voice was soft, caring and impossible to reject.

"I... I just... can't," he whispered with lowered eyes.

"Then why don't we talk about your trips? It was the original plan, so it's good enough for now. Do you go wandering in the halls every night?" the older boy changed the topic easily.

"No, not every night, just... well very often," Harry said, still not meeting with the other's eyes. "When I can't sleep."

"And you weren't caught? Not even once?"

"No, I wasn't. Of course there were cases when Filch almost had my hide, but I was smarter." There was a momentary, brilliant smile on Harry's face, but it was gone just as quickly.

"You must know the castle very well..."

"Well... I think so. Then I found myself here..."

"Do you always walk alone? You don't have any friends?" Tom's eyes were like the eyes of a snake; they shone with cold calculation and expectation, however Harry didn't see this as he was still staring at the velvet cushions. But he flinched when he heard the word friends, which was enough for the onyx eyed young man to know he had reached a tender topic.

"They have better things to do," was the curt reply.

"Would you like to talk about them?" asked the older boy in an encouraging voice and Harry just couldn't refuse the offer.

"Ron... he was the first person who wanted to be my friend. We met on the Hogwarts Express and I instantly liked him. He was everything I wanted in a friend and he was my best ever since then. But a year ago things started to change between us. He became more and more distant and I hadn't known why at first. Then I saw him... kissing my other best friend, Hermione." Harry took a deep breath. He didn't know why he was talking about this to a total stranger, maybe he just wanted to share his pains with someone who cared... or seems to care. Not for Harry Potter, but for him, Harry.

"So you are lonely," it wasn't a question. "They don't have time for you, they don't pay attention to anything you say or do– this Hermione, what kind of girl is she? – Tom changed the topic again without a warning.

"Um... She is the smartest witch in the school, the Slytherins always hated her because of her family and it was me and Ron who defended her," said the green eyed boy with a sad smile.

"She is a muggleborn, isn't she?" Tom sneered inwardly.

"Yes," Harry nodded. "But I've never cared about her ancestry or lineage, because I loved her for herself–

"Loved?" the starless night like eyes narrowed into suspicious slits at this.

"Like a sister or very precious friend. Is something wrong?" the wizard blinked, a surprised expression on his face.

"Everything is fine. But what about now? Do you still love her?" The other boy smiled at him with reassurance.

"Yes, but just like with Ron, something changed between us. Maybe we grew up and I just don't want to accept this," he answered resignedly, but looked up when Tom put a steaming cup in his hands.

"It will help you to sleep and calm your nerves." Harry felt dazed as he looked at the young man's face. That brilliant smile was so alluring...

"Thank you," he smiled back, before tasting the golden liquid. "Oh... Fire Whiskey?"

"Only a little." Tom's smile turned into a smirk, while he drank his own cup of tea.

"Why did you jump on me with that dagger, when I came in?" the younger boy asked after a few minutes of silence.

"I see you don't want to talk anymore about yourself. Why did I attack you?" Tom seemed thoughtful for a moment. "Well, you weren't the original target, but this is a long and boring story altogether, one you wouldn't want to hear and it's really late now, so you should go back to your dormitory. You have classes tomorrow," was the uninformative answer.

"Oh... Okay." Disappointment surged through him upon hearing those words however he tried to act like nothing happened. And it was the truth; nothing had happened. Tom and he weren't friends, no matter how much he wanted to be. The whole thing was insane, they'd just met and he spilled his most secure feelings to the other, like the naive idiot he was. However, for some reason, he wanted to change things between them... no, he needed to change things between them. He wanted Tom to trust in him, to share his secrets with him, to like him. "Maybe... If you don't mind... I'd like to..." he stuttered timidly, without looking at the other boy.

"I'll be waiting for you. And I'll try to refrain from attacking you again," Tom chuckled and Harry smiled a shy smile.

"Well... Good night..."

"Good night, Harry." However the wizard had already closed the door, so he couldn't hear the reply or see the flashing crimson sparks in the depth of the onyx jewels.

Excitement was bubbling in his chest, but at the same time he felt nauseous. Butterflies filled his stomach, driving him crazy with their whirling dance. It didn't help him at all. Every statue seemed like Filch or one of his teachers – most of the time Snape – as he was sneaking to the mysterious corridor again. A part of his mind knew he was acting irrationally, but Harry just couldn't help it. Yes, he hadn't known Tom for a long time– actually he'd known him for a day, but somehow he felt safe and at ease with the older man, even if he didn't know anything about him.

Harry enjoyed the other's company; it was nice to speak about his problem with someone who showed some interest in them and in him and it was great to know someone cared for him and not for that blasted lightning bolt on his forehead. For some unfathomable reason he trusted – rather naively, he knew – in Tom and his coal black eyes which shone with cunning; awareness; intelligence and a little cruelty. Still his hand was trembling as he opened the plain oak door for the second time.

At first he couldn't recognize the sounds which were coming from the room. The heady fragrance of thurible dazed his senses however after a few moments of listening, the needy sighs and moans burnt into his brain and his face turned into a lovely shade of red in embarrassment. He knew that he should turn around and leave the owner of the sensuous sighs, but his legs had a mind of their own and they carried him nearer and nearer to the huge bed that was concealed by blood red, translucent drapes.

His emerald eyes widened impossibly; his breath quickened and became shallow and he felt his whole body flare up because of the sight in front of him. There lay the most astounding and seductive creature in the world, squirming, writhing in pure passion and ecstasy, induced by the perfect moves of his own snow white fingers. Sighs mended with moans as the pace heightened and Harry could only stare at the incredibly erotic picture, trying to even out his quickened breathing... without success.

Then the black seducing demon reached his completion with a last hoarse groan, floating in perfect bliss while Harry, the unintentional but eager voyeur wanted to die in humiliation. It wasn't enough he watched as another boy pleasured himself, but he couldn't prevent the living fire of need to run through his veins either. He wanted to reach down and mimic Tom's movements, to be the one who slowly worshipped that flawless, creamy white skin and he hated himself for it.

"Ah, Harry," Tom greeted him as he got up from his bed, showing his perfect, lean body without any sign of remorse. He was the epitome of gracefulness; those pitch black, seemingly glowing eyes were full of wantonness and satisfaction, tempting the smaller boy who could only dumbly gawk at the other. "If you don't mind, I will take a quick shower. Why don't you take a seat until I finish it?" Tom whispered in his ears huskily and Harry wanted to flee from the room more than ever... or do something worse.

He nodded with a nervous gulp before strolling to the cushion he had sat on the previous night. He was staring into the blazing flames of the fireplace and he couldn't help but hate the silky pressure of his pyjama pants on his straining erection. It was maddening and disgusting at the same time, he wanted to rut into the material like some brainless animal, and unfortunately he did just that which caused him to moan pitifully at the sensation.

"Something wrong, Harry?" asked Tom with a predatory smirk on his face, coming back from the bathroom. The older boy's voice was like expensive velvet, caressing his skin and Harry had to suppress the urge to moan again.

"Nothing... Everything is peachy," he grunted with barely hidden frustration.

"Are you sure? It doesn't seem so." Tom raised a delicate eyebrow as he sat down, almost pressing up to Harry's side.

"Totally," he had to force the word out of his mouth while he tried to ignore the enticing smell of the soap that was teasing his nostrils.

"Good to hear. Perhaps we should talk about your teachers tonight, if you don't mind that is." The young man's smile was knowing, but Harry was glad he didn't push it further.

"My teachers? You know them?" he asked back with surprise.

"You could say that."

"Oh, you still don't want to talk about yourself..." the wizard couldn't hide his disappointment.

"My life isn't as interesting as yours," Tom shrugged.

"But I'm interested! For example how old are you? Why do you live here? And how long have you been living here?" Harry exclaimed eagerly, before ducking his head in embarrassment and starting to play with the hem of the cushion.

"Why don't you tell me how old I look?" was the amused reply.

"Um... Around eighteen or maybe nineteen," he said, still mortified.

"Then I am nineteen. But the answers to your other questions are really too long and boring and I'm sure you don't want to fall asleep in the middle of the story, do you?" The smile was still there however suddenly the words sounded more cold and sharp.

"I'm sorry, I didn't want to pry," Harry was taken aback which caused Tom to sigh softly.

"It's quite all right, just... how should I say this? These are not my fondest memories and even though you seem a very nice boy, it takes more time for me to trust in others," the other boy explained with a sad half-smile in the corner of his lips.

"I'm really sorry," muttered the green eyed boy.

"As I said, it's all right. So your teachers..." The charcoal eyes shone with curiosity again and the younger boy was in the middle of describing his teachers before he even noticed.

Tom was listening with avid attention, capturing Harry's emerald eyes with his own piercing gaze and suddenly nothing else mattered to Harry than to be as close to the other man as he could get. He always wanted to keep Tom's attention on himself, just like his was on the mysterious boy. Harry's eyes followed as Tom's tongue darted out of his mouth to wet his lips; as the other smiled his soft, but strangely cool smile at some funny parts or as the black brows wrinkled when he spoke about the animosity between Snape and himself. He was bewitched and he didn't even care.

Then from out of nowhere there was a pair of moistened lips on his owns, touching him carefully but with well-hidden hunger and he didn't protest at all. He was in a daze once more, his mouth opened on its own, letting in that curious tongue he was so entranced by before and it stroked and mapped everything it reached. It teased him, challenging him to a battle of wills and all he could do was to respond eagerly, falling deeper in the deadly trap of his own personal temptation that was called in the simple name, Tom.

However, the moment his brain got back the control, his heavy eyelids flew open and he jerked away from the other boy in disbelief. He wasn't thinking, but he knew he had to get out of the room and his legs complied without problem and he was running and not looking back at all.

_**Afterthoughts:**__Hm... this is the first part and it was harder to translate than anything I've ever tried. I'm not completely satisfied with it, but it's just because the original version is more lyrical than this version. In English it's impossible to use big words and long sentences at least for me, but this story is one of the few of my writings I liked from the start till the end. I hope you liked it too and reviews or personal opinions are always appreciated._

_Lilith _


	3. Counselling (HarryKurt)

_**Summary: **__After getting fired from his previous job, because his petty bastard of a boss couldn't take no for an answer, Harry takes over as the new guidance counsellor of McKinley High School in Lima, Ohio, thanks to his aunt, Sue Sylvester._

_Harry Potter/Glee _

**Counselling**

**Oh, New York**

Harry looked through the glass door of the principal's office, watching the three figures' argument going on, and wondered what the hell he was doing at this place.

Oh yes, apparently he was fired from his previous job, because his petty bastard of a boss couldn't take no for an answer. The memory of Lucius Malfoy's smug, arrogant smirk when he told Harry that Malfoy and Co. Industries can't afford to employ a Lifestyle Counsellor anymore and hence they'll have to say goodbye to him could make his blood boil even after three weeks.

Sure, a several billion dollar company can't afford a single counsellor, despite having two suicides and three suicide attempts due to the stress and the strain of work mere weeks before Harry joined the company. However, instead of punching Lucius, who two days earlier was still trying his best to seduce him, in the face, the younger man just sneered and asked for his last payment check before walking out of the asshole's office, head held high, green eyes determined.

And now he stood in front of the principal's office at William McKinley High School in Lima, Ohio to take over the post of the guidance counsellor. Harry knew he should have been grateful, after all his aunt got him a job basically the moment he told her what happened – she even offered to sue Malfoy, which he kindly refused –, but exchanging his quiet, peaceful life at his cosy little apartment in New York for the sheer, albeit uniquely loving, craziness of his Aunt Sue's trophy museum in a socially backwards little town like Lima hadn't been amongst his plans.

Not to mention the whole being surrounded by hormonal teenagers factor. Harry hated teenagers. He hated them when he was one and his hatred only grew stronger as he became older. Teenagers were mean, petty and so severely self-absorbed it hurt, not to mention the careless way they caused each other pain, all the while thinking that being popular amongst people who they would probably never meet again after graduation was the most important thing of the world.

Not that in this case Harry's personal opinion of the 14 to 18 year olds mattered; he needed a job, and at least at a high school there wouldn't be middle aged wives who not only needed tips to spice up their marriage but afterward thought it was necessary to inform Harry about the developments, in details.

He shuddered at the thought and quickly shoved it to the back of his mind, concentrating on the task in hand. His aunt, the curly haired man, Harry knew from Sue's rants very well, and a kind of burly woman in dark shorts and a polo shirt complemented with a whistle hanging around her neck were still going at it, but now Aunt Sue was snarling directly into the other woman's face. Harry watched the interaction for another minute or so, but then the bulky woman opened the door with a victorious expression and marched out without even noticing him.

"It's not over yet! Hear me, Beiste? It's far from over!"

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything important," Harry said with a smile, sending a look to his positively livid aunt before looking at the other two occupants of the office. "I was told to be here at nine," he added when the principal only continued to stare at him blankly.

"Ah, yes! Mr. Potter, right?"

"Am I missing something?" the curly haired man cut in before Harry could answer, his moderately attractive face lined with confusion.

"I'm Harry Potter," Harry offered, stretching out his right hand before continuing, "the new guidance counsellor."

Schuester face blanched before he could have caught himself, showing his shock and disappointment and Harry remembered that Aunt Sue had told him something about him being in love with Harry's predecessor or something. It looked like the woman forgot to inform Will about her quitting her job. Or maybe she got a break down from the endless teenage drama that was going on at this place.

"I... I see," Schuester said at last accepting the proffered hand. "I'm Will Schuester. Welcome aboard, Harry!"

"Yes, yes," Principal Figgins nodded hastily, his accent strong and heavy. "You just have to sign your contract, Mr. Potter and then you're free to take your place in your new office."

"You don't have to waste your time with reading it over, Jollipop," Aunt Sue said, her trademark smirk in place. "I drew up the contract myself, using everything in my power to give you what you deserve."

Harry grinned in thanks, his eyes flashing at the hated yet deeply adored pet name his aunt gave him when he was but a child, just losing his parents because they happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time. He nodded and walked over to the desk where Figgins was waiting with a pen in hand, looking nervous and strangely tense.

What was his problem?

He looked down at the at least seven or maybe ten pages long stack, trusting his aunt to know what to include without rechecking it, and he was ready to start writing, when Schuester opened his mouth saying, "You're already sabotaging the new kid's job? That's low even for you, Sue."

"Clearly, your already degenerated brain cells have been affected by the disgusting amount of product you put in your hair even further, William, if you can not recognise the blaringly obvious familiarity between me and Harry," Sue countered with a condescending sneer causing Harry's lips to curl into a faint smirk as he quickly signed at the required places.

"I'm her nephew, by the way," he interrupted before the brown haired man could respond. "And I don't appreciate the hidden jibe toward my intelligence, because obviously you think me naive enough to sign something without reading at least twice that was draw up by a total stranger."

"Of course not!" Schuester looked taken aback. "It wasn't my intention to offend you, Harry. Not at all."

"Then make sure you don't assume things without knowing the person first, because I don't judge you despite having heard quite a few stories about you," Harry replied seriously, looking into the other man's brown gaze and holding it.

"Well... Welcome to McKinley High, Mr. Potter... Harry!" Figgins broke the silence eyeing them in worry, probably afraid they will start a fight in his office. "Your keys."

The young counsellor turned to the balding man, eyes narrowing slightly and noticing the looks the principal was shooting at Harry's aunt, the fear practically glowing in those small, almost beady dark eyes. He repressed a sigh as the ideas just what kind of methods Sue could have used to ensure Harry got the best alongside with the job flooded his mind. Probably he was better off not knowing, after all his aunt was one vicious bitch.

He pocketed the small ring of keys after a thank you and sent an expectant look at his aunt, but as she was still glaring daggers at the principal, Harry decided to leave her to it and with a little shake of his head he left the office fishing his map of the school out of his back pocket.

**[HP/KH]**

His things were still sitting in the box he put down on his new desk waiting for him to finally finish ogling the colourful and comical pamphlets he found left behind on the shelf behind the desk. They were neatly stacked and thematically sorted and for some reason Harry just couldn't tear his eyes off them.

Every brochure had a title in different colours and there were simple drawings on the front. He snorted softly when he found the 'I Can't Stop Touching Myself' one, picking one up from the stack and opening it.

_Touching yourself down there– _Harry blinked, wondering if that Pillsbury woman was an utter prude, because really, what kind of adult, not to mention if that adult is a guidance counsellor, starts the introduction of a sex guide speech – or brochure, something that still baffled Harry – unable to use the correct terms? He shook his head and continued.

_Touching yourself down there is not wrong. You are at an age when your body is going through serious changes, your hormones start to work extra hard and with the extra boost of hormones comes the need to find release for the pent up tension in your body._

What a nice way to explain the reasons behind the constant horniness, Harry thought and closed the pamphlet, somehow knowing there won't be any technique description or explanation about the correct ways to use different toys. However before he could have put the booklet back to its place a thought flashed through his mind, causing him to open it once again, skimming through the awkward and evasive lines, groaning when he finally found what he was looking for.

_...You need to make sure your hands are clean before and after the process..._

Who called masturbation a process? Harry started to think his predecessor was not only prude but socially awkward with no sexual experience whatsoever. How could someone like her become a guidance counsellor in a high school full of randy children, most of who already believed they were more than ready to get down to the dirty.

He considered checking out the other ones too to see if he should just throw them away or maybe use some of them, however before he could decide an unexpected visitor brought him back from his musings.

"Emma really liked those pamphlets." Will Schuester was standing in the doorway with a sheepish grin on his face looking at the sheet in Harry's hand, his expression softening into sad nostalgia. Harry raised an inquiring eyebrow causing the man to snap out of whatever memory he was replaying. "I knocked, but I guess you didn't hear then."

"It's okay. Did you need something?"

"Well, actually I wanted to ask if you needed any help with getting settled in." The cheery smile was back and Harry got the impression that Will was one of those happy go lucky, sweet men, who always tried to see the best in everything. "I even brought some coffee."

"That's nice of you, thanks." Harry smiled and took the offered cup. "Although I don't really have many things to unpack, but you can sit down and stay while I put my things away."

"Are you sure?" Will asked looking around for any extra boxes.

"Yeah, I have everything in this." He patted the carton box on his desk. "Why don't you tell me about yourself a bit?" He enquired instead. "Like what do you teach for instance?"

"Spanish," came the answer. "And I'm the director of the school's Glee Club, but I'm sure your aunt told you about it." Will continued, his easygoing mood changing rapidly. "To tell the truth, I still can hardly believe you and Sue are related. Don't take offence, but I couldn't find a similar bone in you two."

Harry chuckled at the very unsubtle method his colleague used to get some information out of him, but replied nonetheless, "To be honest she is my first cousin once removed, but that just sounds weird, so I call her my aunt."

"Oh, I see. And what's it like to be related to her?"

"If you're looking for some secrets you can use against her, try another door," Harry said dryly causing the older man to blush. "Look, Will, I don't really know what you expect, maybe some horror stories or a sob story about abuse, but I love my aunt and she has not only my loyalty and trust, but my respect too."

"Sorry, I guess I worded that wrong," Will apologised, his hazel eyes earnest. "But you have to understand, most people in this school are either terrified of her or strongly dislike her, and I guess I just can't see her as someone who would treat anyone with tenderness."

"You can say it out loud you know. My aunt is a condescending bitch." Harry smirked as his companion choked on his coffee.

"I thought you said, you loved her," Will wheezed out, still trying to regain his ability to breathe.

"Of course I love her, but I'm not blind to her faults and flaws," came the nonchalant answer, while green eyes watched the other man's every move.

Harry learned the hard way not to judge others by first impression, and while Will Schuester looked a genuinely kind hearted man, he was not ready to trust him. Far from it, even if he heavily filtered his aunt's rants about the Spanish teacher. As he said, he was perfectly aware that Sue was far from perfect, especially to people who weren't family. Harry also knew about her derision toward the Glee Club and Will and was sure, his aunt would pop a vein when she learned about Harry's intention of learning more about the choir.

"But enough of my aunt, why don't you talk about your club? I was always intrigued what could make Aunt Sue feel threatened enough to talk about it in such a great detail as she does about you and your kids," Harry continued, repressing a smirk at the sudden glint of satisfaction and smugness lighting up in Will's eyes.

"Well, for some reason, Glee is actually in the bottom of the food chain. Something I can't understand, because when I was a member of the Glee Club in this school, we were popular..."

"It's quite simple," Harry replied with a little shrug of his shoulders. "Jocks are ruthless and strong, hence they're able to rule the school. Though with such a lame football team like y... ours, I'm a bit baffled why the kids still think jocks are cool."

"I don't get this. The glee kids have talent and amazing voice and it's ignored as if it was nothing!" Will exclaimed, running a hand through his gelled curls.

"Don't ask me to understand teenagers. I hate them," Harry sneered shocking his colleague once again. "Don't need to gape like a fish, it's nothing unusual."

"I'd say it is when you are a guidance counsellor," the Spanish teacher argued, his feelings written all over his face.

"I'm actually a Lifestyle Counsellor."

"A what?"

"A shrink for over-stressed, over-worked and seriously troubled people."

"Like a therapist?"

"Something like that. I listen to my patients' problems and try to help them through advices on changes in their lifestyle."

"You have confidentiality policy, right?"

"You want to book a session?"

"Um... Just curious," Will murmured uncertainly, not meeting Harry's gaze.

"If you ever change your mind, just tell me. And to answer your question, yes. Doctor-patient confidentiality is very important in my line of work," the young counsellor answered with an encouraging smile, placing his laptop on the desk.

"Thank you, I will." The older man smiled back and stood up. "But I have to go now, my next class starts in ten minutes.

"Okay, see you at lunch, I guess?"

"My kids are having a little impromptu performance outside during lunch break, I'll be there, if you're interested," Will said, turning back from the door.

"I'll think about it," Harry replied, even though he already knew he would be there. It's going to be the perfect payback for his aunt's lovely stunt of calling him on that stupid name.

**[HP/KH]**

"Why hello, Jollypop!" His aunt sauntered into his office just as Harry was about to head out and meet Will Schuester outside on the schoolyard. "What is this I hear about you making hug-buddies with Captain Grease?"

"You should really have your wheel-cart-girls' eyes checked, because I'm pretty sure no hugs or any form of touching was involved during Schuester's visit." Harry deadpanned with a roll of his eyes. "He came to spy on you actually. And to prove the talent of his kids he invited me to watch them... now."

Sue sneered and continued to lean against the doorframe, blocking her nephew's way out. "I don't think so, young man. You will sit back down on your pert little backside and– Seriously, JP, I can't believe I'm saying this, but you should gain some weight. No one's going to be interested in a walking skeleton." she said, changing the topic in midsentence and earning a raised eyebrow from Harry.

"JP? Aunt, this is getting overboard," he gritted out, trying to control the urge to scowl at the new name.

"Well I can always call you Jelly Jester or Popsicle Popper, if you'd like that."

"I would appreciate it if you referred me as Harry, instead of any of these distasteful and offending names."

"Well, it was you who believed she's a candy witch. Can you blame me for finding the name quite fitting for your adorably enchanting and sugary personality?"

"I was five."

"You were eleven."

"So what? I liked that book."

"Such a witty comeback."

"You wanted something aside from insulting my body and calling me on infantile and unbecoming names?"

"Admit it, Jollipop, you love the name," Sue said, smirking slyly. "And I know you still have that book."

Harry's hands curled into fists by his side, his righteous anger burning through his veins over the fact his aunt actually went through his things. Sure he learned early to keep his most important belongings at arm reach, because the word privacy didn't exist in Sue Sylvester's dictionary, but he slid that book into a hidden pocket of his suitcase! Well if he thought about it, it was his own fault. He should have never let that book out of his sight while he stayed at his aunt's home.

He huffed, bored with their ridiculous staring competition and walked back to his chair, flopping down and knowing he would never get out of his office to see the Glee kids' little performance now. So instead he tried to find the most comfortable position, leaning back against the back of his chair and twining his fingers on his stomach lazily.

"Why don't you come in and sit down?" Harry asked, nodding toward the leather seat across from him. "I don't have any of those disgusting concoctions you drink though."

"Better, JP, much better," his aunt nodded with a smug curl of her lips and stalked over the black leather armchair. "Now spill."

"Spill what?" The counsellor smirked, raising a sardonic brow at the demand which earned him a menacing glare. "There is nothing much to say, Aunt. The office is big enough and that Pillsbury woman even left me some useless leaflets I guess she's made. I've seen a dozen of kids wandering around in the hallway peeking through the door and ogling me for a few seconds; they look kind of gaudy by the way and–"

"As entertaining as this little prattle fest is, I couldn't care less what you think about the semen brained morons or the Weasel Woman's pathetic attempts at explaining what being a hormone induced powerhouse means," Sue interrupted impatiently, her blue eyes flashing.

"Look, Aunt Sue, Schuester came in, decked out his best 'I'm welcoming you with open arms' act then proceeded to the snooping part almost immediately. To tell the truth, I was kinda disappointed by the lack of challenge he presented. On another note though," here Harry stopped and smiled a little smile, "I have to admit I haven't found anything deadly affronting in his personality to outright hate his guts, just like you'd like me to."

"I did not hear the blasphemy pouring out of your mouth and just you know, I'm seriously considering ordering someone to bring a bucket of water and soap to wash the vile filth out of your mouth," his aunt hissed, wrinkling her nose in disgust.

"I don't know what you expect from me, Aunt, but you won't drag me in the middle of your ludicrous war against the Glee Club and William Schuester," the black haired youth stated, green orbs hard like steel.

Sue scowled at him, muttering something about treacherous, ungrateful nephews, before the scowl melted into a smug smirk, giving Harry a very foreboding feeling. "Be it as it may, I'll bring down those glitter spouting cripples without your help, but you will be at the Cheerios audition tomorrow at three."

"No."

"It wasn't a question, Jelly Jester, so be the sweet little boy you used to be and work your magic for the only person who was always there for you."

"That was uncalled for. And stop with the names already!"

But his aunt was already standing up, looking at the clock on the wall and not listening at all. "Oh look at the time! I better go and get ready for the first row of auditions. Be happy, Harwyn, I didn't ask you to show up every day."

"You mean, not yet," Harry almost growled and his aunt outright laughed into his face.

"I see, still remembering everything I've taught you."

"How could I forget?" Sue winked and with a dismissing wave walked out of the office, leaving a fuming and irritated, but still somehow smiling Harry in her wake.


	4. Of Dolls and Halflings (AshHarryHolly)

_**Of Dolls and Halflings**_

**Author: **_Lilith Duvare_

_**Dedicated to the brilliant **__**Shiro Kurisutaru**__**, who always gives me the bestest ideas. Happy Birthday!**_

**Fandom: **_Harry Potter/Merry Gentry Series_

**Pairing: **_Ash/Harry/Holly_

**Warnings: **_Big fat AU from the middle of HP7(alive!Dobby), Slash, Violence, Language, Blood, Torture_

**Summary: **_Getting cursed by goblins and living to tell the tale was one thing, having the Potter luck and turning into a half-goblin by said curse was another. Having a crazy wrestling loving, cat hating goblin as your only help was nothing more than simple insignificance._

**Disclaimer: **_I don't own anything, maybe Yewclaw, but the others aren't mine which means I'm still poor and not even British or American or Australian. _

_**}oOo{**_

**Preface – Escaping from One's Personal Hell**

The Cup of Helga Hufflepuff mocked him in all its cold, golden glory as he realised there was no way he would survive this little adventure despite the brilliant and surely hopeful words Hermione had fed him before she gulped down the essence of Bellatrix Lestrange.

"_Everything will be alright, Harry,"_ she prattled in her usual disapproving tone when somebody dared to question her logic and he could only scoff now as he dodged another dagger that was aimed at the back of his head by his pursuers. The whole Private Army of Gringotts Wizarding Bank.

"_You just have to follow the plan."_ Much good that damned plan did to him, he mused, jumping away from a strange coloured curse. The goblins almost immediately abducted him after reaching the vault, because Griphook was a double crossing greedy bastard who wanted Gryffindor's Sword all for himself. The memory only made Harry angrier for trusting a creature whose loyalty could have never been questioned before. How could they really believe that a goblin would ever betray their own kin, just because humans did it all the time?

They were fools and now it would cost him his life. He lost the bloody sword to Griphook and the only advantage – no matter how useless it was at the moment – was an unconscious goblin, he could drag away when he blasted the tiny bastards through the door they came in. Of course it was only a spur of moment decision and he didn't know what he'd do with the being _if _he got out from this hell hole, but took the goblin none the less.

He turned left and sent a blasting hex at the ceiling behind him trying to cut his pursuers off, but he wasn't fast enough and not only a blasted silver dagger grazed his left arm, but a purple coloured curse hit the centre of his back too, causing him to gasp in pain and crash to the ground alongside with his hostage.

His whole back was aflame and he had to bit down onto his lips harshly to prevent the sharp scream from escaping his lungs. He didn't know what was happening to him, but the Cruciatus curse was nothing compared the unbearable burning that cursed through his flesh.

His mouth was filled with the sweetly metallic taste of his own blood, but the ache in his shredded lips was nothing compared to the agony in his back. He vaguely heard the yells and commands of the goblins from the other side of the mountain of stones that prevented them from reaching him and he knew he didn't have much time left before they found a way to reach him.

He couldn't give up. And he wouldn't.

Harry tried to stand up, shutting his eyes in anguish as the burning intensified and not caring about his slowly fogging mind or blurring vision. He had to get out of this hellhole alive. There was no other way.

His limbs were shaking as he took a step forward, raising his wand to lift the unconscious creature into the air once more, but it was to no avail. His brain shut down, denying him the words he needed and not a moment later his legs also gave up the fight, making him crash to the ground once again.

_What a great way to die. _He mused, blinking owlishly but not seeing anything anymore. Everything washed together in front of him, colours smudged into dizzying blotches and his lungs started to burn alongside with his searing back. There was no escape or surviving. His promises and vows became meaningless and the Happily Ever After with his mother-look-alike was now impossible.

At least it was going to be a good lesson for one Hermione Granger who always knew better everything than everyone. His lips twitched darkly as his now totally fucked up and hazed mind found a cruel satisfaction in the image of a devastated and guilt ridden girl. Maybe it would knock her down off her self-claimed pedestal of Ultimate Knowledge and maybe he was going to go to hell – if such a place existed – for wishing such things for her.

_Maybe._

He didn't want to die alone, no matter how cowardly it sounded, or was it just the strange grey fog around his brain? He didn't know, yet he slowly opened his lips to take a last shuddering breath, but instead his mouth and blood soaked tongue formed a name without his permission.

"Dobby!"

**[Of Dolls and Halflings]**

Voices.

Voices everywhere.

Squeaks. Demands. Whispered wisdoms. Harsh curses. Sweet pleads. Despaired cries.

Everywhere, everywhere and he was floating and burning in his death or was it life still? Nothing made sense and there was nothing but voices and flames and the all consuming agony that devoured his flesh, skin and bones and gorged down his blood.

There was a scream or was it a shrieking laugh? Then the world exploded in blood, painting everything crimson only to dry and turn into inky black whisking his shattered mind and corpse down, down the deepest pits of hell...

**[Of Dolls and Halflings]**

Murmurs and angered hisses. A sharp whistling sound and a curse.

Blackness. Emptiness. Stillness.

He remembered a dream where he was a hero or was he a heroic fool? It didn't matter, it was only a dream, a sweet yet bitter dream full of childish wonder and betrayal... so realistic but still nothing more than a fragment of his fantasy.

It was nothing like death. He was alive then and surrounded by a colourful world full of life and mystery. And he was a hero, _The Hero_; adored, cherished and loved by his peers for doing something... something magnificent. Did he kill a dragon and save a princess? Did he prevented the end of the world?

Dreams. Dreams, so much dreams, nothing more than snippets of his imagination.

Reality was empty and dead. Just like him.

He had a name once. Or was it a dream too? Something great and given him by his mother... but no, it wasn't possible. He was alone, all alone. Even the flames left him, getting bored with his mauled flesh...

A devil dressed in tea towel and strange hat was dancing around him, wailing and wailing his demise and he wanted nothing more than fall into silence once again. The burning flames of hell consuming him, but it wasn't happening and the voices only became louder and louder making him realize:

He wasn't good enough, not even for Hell.

"Open your eyes, Harry Potter."


	5. Just Keep Going On (HarryBlaine)

_**Summary: **__The sequel of The Show Must Go On. Or a snippet of it at least. _

_Harry Potter/Glee_

**Just Keep Going On**

**Ep.w – I'd Chose Death Anytime Over This**

The first thing Harry noticed upon regaining his consciousness was the lack of train station and old farts in ugly robes. The second was the pretty uncomfortable tube sticking down his throat causing his chest to rise and fall rhythmically, followed closely by the annoying beeps of some sort of machine. And if it hadn't been enough, the entire left side of his body felt disturbingly numb, strange coldness radiating from his chest.

What the hell happened?

Harry tried to remember, brows twitching thus unconsciously causing some frantic rustling around him, but his memories were hazy at best, his mind jumbled and fogged. And on top of his miserable state – alongside with the slight scratching of his throat that just begged to trigger his gag reflex – seconds after he finally managed to relax his cramped fingers, sounds exploded around him and some vengeful monster yanked his blissfully closed eyelids up and effectively managed to blind him with some kind of white light, ripping a pitiful, broken moan from his throat.

"I see you're finally awake, Mr. Potter." Whoever the asshole was, would die from Harry's bare hands, once he managed to figure out how to get rid of the plastic tube in his lungs and the pins and pricks in his left side.

The choreographer blinked owlishly, thoughts still murderous and somewhat panicky underneath the fog of what must have been sedatives or other medicines, trying to see who his attacker could be, not relieved in the slightest when he got the first glimpse of white coat and a whiff of the disgustingly raw smell of antiseptics.

A hospital.

Why wasn't he surprised? He attempted to glare at the man hovering over him, not really understanding a word coming from that thin lipped mouth, especially when the urge to gag over the tube in his throat became too much and he started coughing, feeling like he would suffocate any moment.

Harry tried to claw at his throat, but suddenly hands were everywhere pinning him down and people were shouting; his heart beating in a desperate effort to keep up with his panic, but it hurt again and then...

Nothing.

When he came around once again, the tube was gone unlike the blasted beep, that continuously echoed in his head, making the young choreographer want to hide under his pillow. However, it seemed, his hand was occupied by strong fingers, and the mere realization was enough for Harry to slowly blink open and turn his head to the side.

It was dark outside, yet there was a slouched figure in an uncomfortable looking armchair holding his hand like a life line. Harry blinked a few times, trying to chase away the remnants of sleep and wriggled his still numb fingers.

Maybe there was something serious going on with his body? He vaguely remembered the searing burn in his chest and... screaming at... a guy. Yes, it was a guy, with a shrill voice... Hummel. And just like as the memories and absolute mortification hit him like the Knight Bus almost did back then when he was still one of... them. How could he lose his cool so easily, practically shouting his feelings from the top of his lungs?

Harry groaned, husky and scratchy sound alerting the figure crouching next to him immediately.

"Harry?" It was Blaine.

"Yeah... that's me," he managed to croak out, frowning at the state his voice and left side was in.

"Thank God! I thought you died!" Blaine almost yelled, his face raw with worry, his muscles tense with caged motion, as if he wanted to do something, but couldn't. And if Harry wanted to be honest, he felt happiness bubble up in his fluttering heart at the worry and care the other was showing. "Kurt feels like a last scumbag, and he was here up until not long ago..."

Ah right, Hummel. How could he forget perfect Kurt Hummel, who felt bad, even though it was by no means his fault Harry's heart decided to... burn him alive. Something that still baffled him, but at the same time gave him a very foreboding feeling.

"... are you?" Harry looked back at the younger boy who was gazing at him earnestly, concern written all over his face.

"I'd choose death over this... any time," he said, raising his right hand and rubbing his aching, pinpricking chest, only snapping out of his reverie when the fingers that had been cradling his hand mere minutes ago appeared in his line of vision cupping his chin almost forcefully.

"Never. Say. That. Again," Blaine growled, hazel eyes dark in the glum light of the fluorescent lamp on the wall.

Their faces were incredibly close to each other, the Warbler's hot breath wafting over Harry's cheeks, and it would have been easy to raise his head a little, but he was not interested in breaking up others' relationships, not even when his own happiness was at stake. So instead of kissing the guy he'd been crushing on for weeks he pressed his lips together.

"Everyone dies eventually," he murmured, eyes slipping close before opening slowly once again.

"You are not going to die," came the furious answer, Blaine's fingers tightening around his chin and at that Harry had to laugh, the sound pitiful and more like a series of raspy coughs than anything.

"No... I'm not," he huffed through another fit of coughs, then the doctors were back again and he could only add one more word before they drugged him to oblivion, "Never..."


	6. The Kan's Saviour (HarryIjuuin)

_**Summary: **__Harry should have been suspicious when he was assigned as the editor of mangaka of one of the most popular series in Japan. He really should have asked why he, a rookie, got such a huge name as his first assignment, because the thing lying in front of him was certainly not human and might have been dead for more than a few days…_

_Harry Potter/Junjou Romantica _

**Preface: The Saviour of Dehydrated Morons**

"Come one, Potter, don't scream, don't scream. Don't kill that bastard Isaka. Repeat in your head: I won't kill that two-faced asshole. I won't kill that two-faced asshole." a young, black haired man with startling green eyes and huge glasses chanted as he stared the _thing_ in front of him. "I don't care, I'll strangle that bastard!" he snarled a moment later, eyes flashing with murderous desire.

It was that silver tongued, sweet talking, poker faced son of a bitch's fault, saying everything will be alright and his first assignment is going to be more than easy. He should have known better, after everything, he really should have known better...

"Crap, I hope he's not dead," the man muttered poking the _thing_ with his toes carefully earning a pitiful whimper from _it_. "I must be insane... downright crazy for doing this," he sighed as he crouched down and touched the stinking, unkempt figure which used to be a man once. "Ijuuin-sensei. Ijuuin-sensei, do you hear me?"

"W... Wa–" those pale, chapped lips tried to say and Potter blinked, trying to figure out what the other could want. "Wat..."

Wat...? What? What could this miserable creature want? And another question, why was he lying on the floor in the hall? Potter narrowed his eyes in concentration not getting the answer until he looked at those thoroughly dry lips and hollow cheeks, suddenly understanding everything.

Water.

The blasted, crazy, mangaka wanted water.

He wanted to curse and scream and yell and even hex Isaka at that moment and maybe even that idiotic writer for his carelessness, yet he just stood up and swiftly went into the living area, which fortunately contained the kitchen too – like his own apartment and probably every other flat in Tokyo did – and poured some water in a glass.

"Reckless idiot," Potter muttered as he kneeled next to his new charge once again, lifting the other's head into his lap and putting the glass to those lips softly urging the man to drink. "Slowly, Ijuuin-sensei, drink slowly."

There was another whimper, however, the mangaka's basic instincts seemed to win causing him to gulp down the lifesaving fluid. In the mean time Potter tried not to scrunch his nose in disgust and fury; inwardly counting to hundred which didn't help to calm him down at all, but at least he did not start to curse everything around him.

"Who... are you...?" Dark charcoal eyes blinked open sluggishly as Ijuuin-sensei finally regained some of his lucidness.

"Your new editor, Harry Potter. I'm here for the drawings," Harry replied rigidly, staring into the hazy gaze.

The man reacted so suddenly that the younger man had no time to move away causing the other to crash his head into Harry's forehead knocking him back and deafening him at the same time by screaming "NO!" in horror.

"No, no, no, no, no." Ijuuin scouted away as quickly as he could, curling up into a trembling ball on the floor.

"What do you mean, no? Ijuuin-sensei..." the young editor's voice was dangerously low and carried a silent warning.

"I don't have them! I destroyed everything! They were horrible! Horrible!" the mangaka gasped out in near hysterics.

"You destroyed your drawings... two days before the deadline?" Harry's tone was flat, but Ijuuin curled into himself and started shaking even more.

"It was disgusting. Nobody would read them. It was useless."

'_Don't do this to me, please don't do this to me.' _the green-eyed man prayed silently, closing his eyes in rage and desperation. "I'm sure they were great, Ijuuin-sensei. Why don't you show me the manuscripts or even your notes? You still have them, _right_?" he tried to calm himself down and plastered a horribly fake smile onto his face however it did nothing to convince the other man out of his depressive mode.

"The whole thing is hideous! I lost my muse, I lost it! I want to die!"

That moment Harry's mind was filled with a distant memory of a tiny creature with tennis ball eyes and bat like ears and despite the severity of the situation he had to laugh. It was his first genuine laugh in a long time; it was melodic yet husky and so much deeper than it used to be when he was a mere teenager. It surprised him and shocked the writer.

"You're laughing at me?" Ijuuin whispered in a trembling voice full of hurt.

"No, sensei. I'm laughing at this freakin' situation. Or do you want me to cry?"

"N-no..." the older man stuttered, startled charcoal irises peeking out of the nest of arms. "I'm... sorry."

Harry sighed tiredly. Feeling sorry wouldn't bring back the destroyed pages and they only had two days until the deadline. He really wanted to curse something or that bastard of a chief editor, but it wouldn't bring back the pages either so he stood up with another sigh and looked down on the still hiding man.

"We still have two days and maybe we can do a miracle," he offered his hand to Ijuuin.

There was a momentary silence before Ijuuin-sensei slowly unfastened his limbs and uncertainly accepted his hand.

It was time for miracles.


	7. Broken Minds and Insane Hearts(HarryPuck

_**Summary: **__Harry lost control of his magic after the final battle with Voldemort and the Healers to prevent him from destroying everything around himself not only bind his magic, but also lock him away in the mental ward first at St. Mungo and later at one of Ohio's magical hospitals so he could be closer to his uncle and cousin. After spending years drugged and tortured by his own suppressed magic, he is released under the care of his Uncle Burt and Cousin Kurt who would do anything to see him get better. And with his dearest childhood friend coming back to the picture too, he might just get the chance. _

_Harry Potter/Glee_

**Broken Minds and Insane Hearts**

_**I. Faggy Threats**_

"Why can't you just accept that I'm not like you?" Harry stopped in his tracks on the stairs turning back to his uncle in slight confusion. Who was this guy? But Burt's eyes were narrowed, concentrating on the argument going on in the room.

"I have accepted that." Harry recognized Kurt's voice at least, and while the anger and disappointment weren't anything new, the bitterness was. Was his cousin in love with the other unfamiliar boy?

"No, you haven't," the other spat, his tone full of contempt and accusation causing Harry's jaw to clench and his vision to blur slightly. "You think I don't see the way you stare at me? How flirty you get. You think I don't know why you got so excited that we were going to be moving in together?"

"It's just a room, Finn!" Kurt exclaimed, clearly hurt and exasperated. "We can redecorate it if you want to!"

"Okay, good. Well, then the first thing that needs to go is that faggy lamp." He didn't say that, he wouldn't... but the shocked rage on his uncle's face just told Harry that the bastard, in fact, did. "And then we need to get rid of this faggy couch cover..."

The black haired boy was on the homophobic asshole before anyone could realise what had happened, his fingers clenching around a meaty neck while his knee pressed down on a wide chest. The douchy teenager didn't stand a chance against him no matter how much bigger he actually was.

"If you want to live another day, you condescending slimy little waste of space, I advise you to shut that hole you call a mouth and get the hell out of this house," Harry snarled, ignoring Kurt's shriek and the fearful brown eyes that bored into his most probably glowing green ones.

"Harry," his uncle said, big hands grabbing his shoulder, but he wouldn't let go. This bastard dared badmouthing his precious baby cousin and no one did that! "Let him go, Harry. You don't want to go back to the hospital, right?"

His fingers instantly went slack around the neck at the word hospital. He wouldn't go back. He would never go back to that hell hole! He hated the pitying but smug looks of the nurses whenever they forced those god awful pills down his throat, robbing him of his senses and mind, forcing him to become a soulless marionette at their mercy.

"If you show your pasty kicked up puppy face in front of me ever again, I'll kill you," he hissed into the terrified boy's ear before he let his uncle to pull him off the gigantic body that was lying among the ruins of something that had been made of wood.

"It's enough Harry," Burt said in a strict voice, his grip firm on the younger man's shoulder. "Please take Kurt to upstairs while I talk to Finn."

"Harry?" Striking poison green eyes snapped to the shaken boy behind him and even through the reddish haze of his mind Harry could feel his heart clench.

He moved quickly, embracing the shorter body, his movements timid and gentle, the exact opposite of the way he acted toward that piece of shit, named Finn. "I'm here, I'm here now. No one will hurt you," he chanted, gaze unseeing and his hands caressing the perfectly formed coif. "I'll take care of you."

Harry could feel Kurt shaking in his arms and he really wished he had enough composure or sanity left to be able to comfort his cousin, but both of them knew he was too damaged to do something like this. "Come, Harry. We're going upstairs."

"Everything will be alright," Harry repeated, fingers fisting the soft and expensive material of Kurt's shirt, wrinkling it, yet the younger boy did nothing to reprimand him. "I'm here. I'm back."

The fog was back, separating him from reality and deep down in the last secure and clear corner of his broken mind Harry was afraid they will send him back to his white padded prison.

For his own good.

"I won't leave you again. I won't..."

"Ssh, Harry." Long fingers caressed his messy locks, trying to soothe him, but he was having none of it. He had to make sure Kurt understood he was safe now, that Harry would never let him suffer, not like... them. "Welcome home."

A prickle of pain seeped through the rapidly greying red clouds and Harry's eyes widened in realisation and betrayal, but it was too late and before he could even open his mouth to demand... something, anything from his suddenly guilt ridden and blurry cousin, darkness devoured him and the outside world pushing him into the endless river of dreams and delusion.

**[Broken Hearts and Insane Minds]**

Kurt looked down at the ashen face of his cousin, noting the dark circles under his closed eyes and the unhealthily white shade of his once porcelain skin, making all thoughts of Finn Hudson and his cruel heart shattering words disappear from his head. Harry was home, his brilliant and fierce cousin was finally home once again protecting him like no one, aside from his dad, ever had.

Yet now it could be taken away from him once again, just because Hudson was a brainless and inconsiderate jerk who needed to shove his ridiculous homophobic fears of catching the gay into Kurt's face. Yes, Kurt had a crush on him and sure he wasn't subtle and maybe even a tad bit desperate, but a part of him always wanted to believe that Finn was different than the other meat-headed jocks who always shouted slurs at him and threw him into dumpsters.

Kurt closed his eyes for a moment, hating the fact that his strong and fearless cousin was lying in his lap, all broken and drugged. His dad was talking over the phone, Kurt catching snippets of words full of sorry, but never regret and the guilt that took over his hear when he saw the betrayed look in Harry's eyes upon receiving the sedative shot increased tenfold; it was his fault that his dad and Carole might break up.

"I wish you'd been here to save me from my own craziness," Kurt whispered, kissing the messy curls. "I wish I had been able to save you from _them_, from this fate. You deserve so much more..."

He felt the first tear drops sliding down his cheeks. Harry deserved a better life, not one full of horrors and death and torture, something unimaginable to Kurt, but not less painful. The broken state of his wonderful cousin hurt him, because he knew the Harry before all... _that_ happened. He knew that radiant and adorably shy person that defended him ferociously even earning Noah Puckerman's respect; an almost impossible feat in itself.

And Kurt himself deserved better, better than the half-assed crush on a straight boy. It wasn't love and he knew it. He was infatuated with the image of a false knight in shining armour, a coward playing the role of the nice boy. Finn Hudson might have been an essentially okay guy, but he lacked the intelligence and even personality, the two most important things Kurt admired in men.

"And I'm a damned fool to ever believe I could love someone as classless as him," he whispered, just as his dad stepped into the living room.

"Do you want to talk about it, son?" Burt's voice wasn't angry or even sad, which must have been a good sign. "I mean, you know that I'm not good with... the boy stuff, but I'm here..."

"I appreciate it dad, really," Kurt answered looking at the man who did such a good job raising him. "But there is nothing to say. It wasn't ever meant to be, I just deluded myself, enamoured with the safety of liking a boy that would never be mine." He turned back to examining Harry's face, making sure to notice every little change in the sharp, aristocratic features so different from his own softness.

There was no question that his cousin was gorgeous. Kurt remembered the times he was at home from that... place, girls almost hounded him, giggling and batting their lashes wherever he went, yet Harry paid no heed to them, his gaze fixated on Kurt, paying attention only to him and making him feel precious and important, feelings he had never felt ever since.

"–there will be someone, Kurt." His head shot up, realising his dad was talking again. "Someone who's as brave as you. Someone who will love you for yourself and won't be afraid to show how much he loves you for it."

The tears came again, faster and with more force this time and he had to hide his face in Harry's neck to conceal his weakness, but of course it wasn't enough to fool his father who was already next to him, hugging him, them with so much love that almost broke Kurt's heart again.

"It'll be okay. You'll be okay," Burt whispered huskily. "He will be okay. He is at home, with us. And he won't go back. Never again. We'll make sure."

"I know, dad. We will," Kurt sniffled, basking in the warmth of family and promises of a better future for both him and Harry. "Thank you."

They broke out of the embrace, Burt discretely wiping away the moisture from the corner of his eyes, greenish-blue irises shining with pride. "He's better. His Healer said he would probably never fully recover, but he'll be able to live a full life. Maybe even start high school in September."

"He's eighteen, dad, nineteen in two months and he's already lost so much time," Kurt argued weakly. "McKinley would kill him, or worse he could go into rage and accidentally hurt some of the jocks badly."

"I said maybe," came the mildly irritated answer. "First and foremost he has to get used to living in society again. Amongst normal people who are cruel and sometimes don't watch what they say or tactless without realising, normal people he can't attack just because they do or say something hurtful to him or to one of us."

"I'll be there for him. And I'm sure Mercedes would love to meet him. She's going to adore him for sure."

**[Broken Hearts and Insane Minds]**

Kurt knew the moment when Harry regained his consciousness. His whole body stiffened and the arm draped around Kurt's waist twitched and tightened with tension, squeezing his ribs in an almost painful way. Damn it, but his cousin was still strong despite the two years spent in hospital.

"It's me, Harry," he said softly, forcing the discomfort out of his voice.

"Kurt?" Harry's voice was raspy with the remnants of dreams and a moment later a surprisingly cold nose was buried against the back of his neck. "Kurt."

Kurt's heart clenched at the despair oozing from the mere syllables of his name, but still didn't dare to move, afraid of setting off any remnant of defensive instincts in his cousin. Instead he tried to sound as normal and soothing while saying, "Yes, I'm here. You're at home."

Harry's shoulders shuddered, Kurt could feel the tremors running down his arm still hugging him, then he took a shaky breath, whispering, "Then it wasn't a dream."

And Kurt wished he had something to say to that, but Harry's breath became slow and deep once again and Kurt closed his own eyes too, ready to fall back into Sleep's welcoming arms and the warm embrace of his cousin.

Next time when he woke up it was to the alarm going off, telling him through a disgustingly cheerful melody that it was another day of school, another day of utter humiliation awaiting. But Harry's arm was still over him, defending and reassuring even in his slumber and despite everything, Kurt already felt better.

Harry mumbled something incoherent, brows furrowing in confusion before green eyes blinked open slowly, looking up Kurt's half dressed figure and making the younger boy smile at the bleary eyed figure in his bed.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, carefully leaving any trace of worry out of his tone.

"Tired... mostly," was the raspy answer as Harry slowly sat up, scrubbing a hand over his face. "I lost it yesterday, again."

"You were defending me, as always," Kurt reasoned, but the older boy's bitter expression didn't change.

"I could have killed that little shit... so easily." He looked up and his gaze showed absolute conviction.

"But you didn't. Harry, you stopped and that's good."

"Do you know why I stopped?"

"No," Kurt said after a moment of hesitation.

"I didn't want to go back to that place, Kurt." The black haired boy's voice was desperate and full of dread. "The mere thought of being locked up, surrounded by those white... sterile walls... it creeps me out. It terrifies me."

"You're not going back." Kurt put the top of his Gaga costume down and walked back to his cousin embracing the crouched form. "And Finn was acting like the moron he is. It's okay."

"Thank you." The whispered words floated between them like cocooning feathers, caressing both of their souls.

Kurt kissed the top of the ever unruly locks, his fingers drawing slow circles on Harry's back as he enjoyed the feeling of having his cousin in his arms, the feeling of being the stronger one for once. "No, thank you."

Harry offered a wane smile, a ghost of the radiant and mischievous grins of his past self, but Kurt had to remember, too many things changed for Harry or even for him to be the same. And so he smiled back, a matching nearly invisible twitch of lips, honest and sad; the perfect memento of the past two years.

"I joined the glee club," he said suddenly, just as the door of the basement opened and Burt walked down the stairs.

"Good. You always loved to sing."

"And we're going to the Regionals."

"I'm not allowed amongst people yet."

"It's still three weeks away."

Harry opened his mouth to protest, but Burt spoke up before he could have, "We'll see, Kurt. But you'll be late if you don't hurry up and Harry needs to take his pills."

Kurt bit his lower lip in indecision, sending uncertain looks to his cousin, but the older boy just nodded, already reaching out for the glass of water and the half dozen tablets in his uncle's hand. "I'll be okay," he urged. "Probably will sleep through the day."

"I should stay at home... watching movies, or something..."

"You have school." For a moment the old Harry was back, making the decision easier for Kurt.

"If you're sure...?"

"Go, I'm not going anywhere and with all these sedatives I won't be able to do anything... crazy."

"I didn't think you would," Kurt protested, watching with awed horror as his cousin popped the pills into his mouth like they were candy. "But we're going to watch those movies when I get back."

"Sure," Harry waved, occupied with putting down his glass. "Now, shoo. I need more sleep."

**[Broken Hearts and Insane Minds]**

"We need to speak," Finn muttered, sending him his best kicked up puppy looks, yet Kurt only sneered in answer.

"There is nothing to talk about." His response was cold and final. No space for argument.

Probably he will forgive the big lug one day, but the events of the previous day were still too vivid in his mind and he didn't feel ready to handle it. So instead of mulling over his crush's cruel words for the hundredth time he turned to Mercedes, with a new gleam in his eyes.

"Now, I'm not sure I like that look, white boy," she said suspiciously.

"You don't need to fret, Cedes, I have no nefarious plans in mind. I just want to introduce you to someone. Someone _important_," Kurt replied, his usual smirk in place.

"You've been holding out on me?" Mercedes raised an eyebrow while narrowing her eyes at the same time. "You got a boyfriend and you haven't told me?"

"Don't be ridiculous, you'd've been the first to know about my boyfriend if I had any," he grimaced, dismissing her accusation nonchalantly, realising that the knowledge of not having a boyfriend hurt a lot less than yesterday. "He's someone precious."

"I'm all ears."

"I want you to meet my... cousin, Harry."

"Harry?" It wasn't Mercedes who asked this, but Puck who was just two seats away from them. "Potter's back in town?"

"Yes Puckerman, and if he hears about what a giant jerk you have been to me, he will rip your throat out," Kurt spat frostily, sneering when the once Mohawk wearing boy cringed. "Ask your best friend Hudson if you don't believe me."

But Finn remained silent, lips pressed together and he refused to even look at Puck. Good, Kurt thought sardonically, he deserves a bit of discomfort for what he did to me.

"Now Hummel, don't need to put your bitch face on. It was just a question," Puck grunted, crossing his arms.

"Now wait a sec, you're talking about _the_ Harry Potter? That hot piece of ass, that wouldn't even give me a second glance?" Santana interrupted haughtily. "The one who always helped out Berry in elementary?"

"Naturally I understand your jealousy Santana, especially because Harry recognised my superior personality and talent in singing before everyone else," Rachel answered and Kurt snorted.

"Sure, hobbit. If you tell it yourself enough times, someone else might start believing you."

"Well Harry was my friend and I'm happy to know he is back. I can't wait to meet him again and maybe even sing a song or two together." Rachel ignored the cheerleader, sparing her a pitying look that angered the taller brunette even more. "He has quite a spectacular range, if I say so myself."

"Sorry, Berry but the only person who comes to my house is Mercedes. I would never let a capital Fashion Disaster like you through my front door. Even my furniture would die in shame from the sight of your abysmal animal sweaters and grandma skirts," Kurt cut in, inwardly panicking at the thought of these people seeing his cousin in such a broken state. "Now mind your own business, I was talking to Mercedes."

"There are animals from hell on Rachel's sweaters?" Brittany asked dazedly, staring at Rachel with uncanny interest.

Kurt decided to swallow the witty answer that wanted to spill out of his mouth and turned back to his best friend. "So what do you say? Today after school?"

"Sure, I'm all for meeting that wonder cousin of yours, even Puck is panting over."

"I ain't panting over nothing Aretha, so shut the fuck up!" Puck snarled indignantly. "Potter is a dude, I don't care about dudes!"

Mercedes scoffed in a way that suggested she knew more than she let on and Puck scowled, taking on an arrogant stance that didn't loosen up even when Mr. Schue sashayed in and started babbling about their weekly assignment. Kurt exchanged an exasperated eye roll with Mercedes and sat back, musing about Harry and if he was really sleeping or if it was just some kind of evading tactic to make him leave.

If he wanted to be honest, Kurt knew he was acting like an overly dramatic mother-hen, trying to hover over his favourite and handicapped chick, when in reality Harry was anything but handicapped. Memories of screams and a blood soaked Harry flashed before his eyes, something he didn't want to see again. He could still smell the coppery bittersweet stench of blood and hear his cousin's screams as he fell to his knees trying to claw out his own eyes and throat. It took Kurt's dad minutes to be able to restrain him, while ordering Kurt to call the ambulance.

It was horrible and sickening and the beginning of Harry's imprisonment in the mental ward of Ohio State General Hospital. Kurt closed his eyes against the pinpricks of tears threatening to fall and fought to maintain his mask of indifference. Obviously it didn't work.

"Are you okay, white boy?" Mercedes whispered worriedly.

"Yes, just bored to death, as always," he murmured back earning a huffy little giggle, just like he wanted.

"Yeah, Mr. Schue seems more eager than usual and it's the end of the week..."

"Probably that's why."

"Might be."

Fifteen minutes later the meeting was finally over and Kurt forcefully squelched down the anxiety bubbling in his chest. Everything was going to be okay and Harry would surely appreciate some company too, a new face and a girl at it. He wound his arms around Mercedes' elbow, steering her toward the parking lot, but still watching out for the occasional Neanderthals, also known as Karofsky and Azimio.

"You're so jittery that I'm afraid we will start bouncing off the wall any minute now. So what's the big deal?" Mercedes asked, looking at him with inquiring eyes.

"Not here."

"So something's up."

Kurt sighed and thought about how to answer the question as he unlocked his SUV and slid behind the wheel. In the end he decided to just say it in one go, no beating around the bush, "Harry's sick."

His friend looked confused, a frown marring her pretty face. "Well I can meet him when he gets better–"

"No, Cedes, he has... a mental illness." Kurt didn't want to look at the girl, instead he started the car and put it to reverse.

"Like Becky or Ms. Sue's sister?"

"No. Like insanity," he chocked out, the mere word burning through his throat and mouth. "He just got out from the mental ward, yesterday."

"So he's actually better?" Mercedes' tone was soft and held no trace of negative feelings.

"His doctors are hopeful, yes, but he's not well... And I perfectly understand if you change your mind–" Kurt stammered, feeling like he was badmouthing and somehow betraying Harry with his lack of trust and confidence in him.

"If you think that I don't want to meet a guy that made Badass Puckerman crushing on him like mad, you have another thing coming," Cedes cut in harshly, smirk in place on her lips. "Not to mention the first guy who rejected Lopez? He must be like a god or something."

"Yes he is," Kurt whispered. "He is the greatest person I've ever met. You'll see."

**[Broken Hearts and Insane Minds]**

Harry heard the whispering voices above him, his muscles tensing immediately, readying himself to jump at anyone who dared to come closer, but then the moment passed, his panic induced defensive mechanism subdued and he realised he was lying in his cousin's bed; at home.

He slowly opened his eyes, blinking away the fog of fatigue and shards of memories of war and constant fear, struggling to get up even though he could feel the sedatives coursing through his veins. The whispering instantly stopped when the figures noticed he was awake, one of the crouching down enough that Harry could recognise Kurt's smiling face in the gloom of the room.

"Hey sleepy head," his cousin murmured, carding his fingers through Harry's bird nest. "I'd like you to meet someone if you're up to it."

"Sure," he mumbled, raising his head slowly off the pillow, that was followed by his torso as well. "I hope it's not that little girl though... the one the kids... always bullied in... elementary school. With the sweaters."

A deep, soothing chuckle came from the stairwell's way causing Harry's fingers to dig into the sheets instinctually, but fortunately there was no panic attack this time and he even managed a strained smile to appease Kurt's worried frown.

"She can come closer. I'm literally unable... to do anything that might be seen as... aggressive," Harry chuckled dryly. "Uncle even had to take me to... the bathroom earlier today. It was mortifying."

"No body thought you would. I just wanted to make sure you're ready," Kurt answered seriously, his usually bright eyes shadowed by his sadness.

Sadness that was caused by Harry.

"I'm ready."

Kurt nodded toward the girl behind Harry and the young wizard could hear the soft, but kind of heavy footsteps that indicated the girl must have been somewhat over-weighted. A flash of information about the extra weight usually slows the opponent run through Harry's mind, before it disappeared in the sea of blackness that was his consciousness.

Kurt stretched out his hand, long white fingers twining with dark shorter ones that lead to the curvy body of a prettily dressed kind faced girl. She had deep brown eyes and very full lips, Harry thought absently, a ripple of amusement washing over him and making him crack a delirious smile.

"I'm Mercedes, Kurt's best friend. It's very nice to meet you, Harry," she stated, her voice low and calming, reminding Harry of the sound that came from a seashell he found once, although he couldn't remember when or where.

"It's nice... to meet you too," he replied, attempting to raise his numb and heavy hand, but it just wouldn't budge. "Eh... sorry."

"It's perfectly okay Harry." It was Kurt who answered, already fawning over him like a fussing mother. "Right, Cedes?"

"Of course," the girl agreed and for her credit she didn't look uncomfortable sitting on the edge of Kurt's rumbled bed so near to Harry.

No one wanted to sit next to him in a long, long time.

"Your dress is very..." The black haired boy wanted to compliment her, but the words left him, leaving him with a blank void in his head and in his voice.

"Fabulous? Crazy? Fantastic?" Mercedes supplied, her huge lips stretched wide, gaining Harry's sole focus for an unknown amount of time. "We were doing Gaga this week, and it took ages to put this set together, not to mention Kurt's shoes..."

"Gaga?" Harry repeated, blinking the fuzziness out of his sight.

"Lady Gaga, Harry. You don't know of her, yet, but I'll make sure you meet the absolute brilliance that is Lady Gaga in the very near future," his cousin said, the glint in his eyes bright and breathtaking, something Harry dearly missed even in the midst of the battle for a fracture of his sanity.

"Sounds good," he agreed, resting his head against the wall and gazing at the other two next to him. "And what do you... want to do... now?"

"Well I was thinking around the lines of some musicals? Singing in the Rain, perhaps? Or Enchanted, maybe? What do you think, Mercedes?"

"I think that, if I have to watch Enchanted one more time I'll go berserk, white boy and you will be my first–" A hand clamped over her mouth and Kurt glared at her meaningfully, the message loud and clear even for Harry.

He guessed if he wasn't so heavily drugged, he might have lost his composure from a threat like that, even if it was just a friendly little jibe. There were flashes of insane screams and almost frothing mouths still embedded in his memory, taunting him with his past craziness every now on then. Then there were the snippets of restraining cuffs, tying him to the narrow white bed, while strong hands held him down, but he just screamed and snarled like a rabid animal...

"...ry? Harry?" Harry looked up at his cousin and his friend, both of them concerned. "Maybe we should let you rest some more..."

"No," he shook his head, movements jerky and too slow, "I'm fine. Why don't we watch something... classic? The Lion King?"

"I'm up to anything until it's not Enchanted," Mercedes agreed, smirking at Kurt and even Harry managed to crack a little half-smile when the younger boy crossed his arms in front of his chest, obviously sulking.

"I should force you to watch Enchanted three times in a row, for that comment," he muttered, but stood up and picked out the DVD putting it into the player, before he plopped himself down on his bed, drawing Harry into his arms and leaving enough space for his best friend to snuggle up to him too.

Harry sighed, trying to focus on the movie that had been his favourite once, but even before the first song was over, he felt his eyes fluttering shut, the medication taking over once again, sending him to the land of nothingness.

"Is it necessary to keep him so out of it?" Mercedes whispered once Harry was asleep, watching as her best friend stroked the messy black hair in his lap.

Kurt sighed, remembering the events just the day before; a part of him wanted to tell Mercedes what happened with Finn, but in the end he just nodded, unwilling to betray his cousin and humiliate the boy he had been foolishly crushing on. "For now," he answered softly. "But he's getting better."

"It just... feels, cruel and inhumane. It's not a life..."

"I know, Mercedes, but at least he's at home now. You haven't seen that place where they kept him. We couldn't even visit him–" Kurt's voice broke, and he felt the oh so familiar tears of helplessness flood his eyes. "It was so... so... horrible."

"Shh, darling, he's here now. Everything's going to be all right," Mercedes murmured in her sweet, soothing voice, embracing him like a mother, comforting him like no one, except Harry could.

And Kurt just let the tears go, letting them flow freely without care of his complexion or the state of his clothes and allowing his sorrow sail away with them to give space a new strength and determination.


	8. House of Cards (HarryEvan Rosier)

_**Summary: **__Harry was born a squib and his parents sent him off to live with Lily's sister and her family. What no one expected was that he might have had powers of his own and what having no control over those powers would mean both for Harry and the entire Wizarding World._

_Harry Potter/Evan Rosier?_

**House of Cards**

**Card Zero; The Fool**

_**Upright **__- __Beginnings, most probably of journeys which may be possibly mental, physical or spiritual. The beginning of a new life-cycle. Energy, force, happiness and optimism. The overturning of the status quo or existing states by unexpected happenings. Innocence, naivety, and spontaneity. Important decisions to be made._

_**Dignified or Reversed**__ - __Ill advised risks, impulsive action, choices and rash decisions. Foolishness, gambling, instability and the wasting or frittering way of creative energy. A bad time for commitments and can be an indication of someone who starts many new things but never finishes them. They may also consistently seek changes in their environment or job._

_**~ o.O.o ~**_

Have you ever known what the word Hell means? Would you say it's the place where the Devil and demons live? Or would say it's the place where every bad people's soul goes after their death? Or even the place where you got eternal punishment for your sins? None of this would be true.

Hell is here on Earth, hiding in people's heart, waiting and devouring it slowly until you give in and do something that would destroy your life. Hell is not a place, but a pest and the Devil is not the highest evil outside but inside of you and there is not a word like Redemption in real life.

How I know this, you wonder and I can answer you easily. I am one of the Highest and Deadliest Devils in this filthy world, yet to others who think they are above everyone else I am nothing. To others who wield the magic in their sticks and veins I am nothing but an anomaly; a disgrace.

They are blinded by their own greed and hunger for power, casting aside everything they think would slow them down. I was one of these things to the magic wielders and I was cast aside to a place any normal person would describe as Hell. But as I said, Hell is not a place but a pest that eats your heart out, changing you slowly, tainting your soul while it whispers sweet, impossible promises to your ears until you yield to its will... and in the end I yielded just like every hopeless living being before me.

I was six years old, an innocent little child with huge emerald eyes and raven black hair to every outsider. Yet I was none of these things.

I was a murderer.

**Card One; The Magician**

_**Divinatory meaning  
**__**Upright**__ - __Mastery of the material world, creative action, self discipline and a willingness to take risks. An ability to recognise one's own potential, the power to initiate, communication and wit._

_**Ill Dignified or Reversed**__ - __Confusion, hesitation, inability to make decisive choices. Inability to properly utilise time or talents. Lack of inspiration or energy. Giving up easily, poor self image, poor co-ordination and sometimes learning difficulties._

_**~ o.O.o ~**_

A little boy, seemingly not older than eight sat beside the windowsill of a small white room looking at the little package in his hands with childish wonder. It was the first present he had ever got and it came by a huge grey owl which was another thing that shocked the boy, but he shoved these thoughts to the back of his head to examine the tiny box that was wrapped into royal blue and silver wrappings with a bronze ribbon on the top of the box.

It was the most beautiful and entirely his. His first present ever. It was precious and the boy was almost afraid to open it; what if he broke something in the box? What if he ruined the gift? He couldn't allow that, could he? But he was still curious which meant eventually he had to open the box to look inside.

In the end he hadn't opened it instead he looked out the window to watch the nice park that belonged to the hospital where he lived for five years now. He watched as patients walked on the sidewalks, chatting or just enjoying the fresh air, something he was denied from day one. He could never leave his room as there were several locks on his white door as well as bars on his windows, preventing him from trying to escape the "care" of the doctors and nurses.

The boy wasn't stupid and knew perfectly why did they kept him under such a severe scrutiny, he could see it in his doctor's gaze every time the man looked at him; they thought him insane and dangerous. They thought his mind snapped after the abuse he had to endure for five long years at that place. And maybe they were right, after all, he did kill his "family" and hadn't regretted anything since then.

But these people would never understand that they had to die. The Voices started to become impatient, whispering more and more furiously to him, urging him to put an end to his suffer, saying it was their time anyway. So he did what the voices demanded him to do. It was his obligation and Fate. But these people would never understand this, so he remained silent, acting the role of the mute child who lost his mind perfectly, surrounded by white walls, sedatives and the eerie, yet somehow comforting whispers of the Voices.

The boy sighed softly as he looked at a little girl who was sitting on a bench with a heavy blanket around her weak form, waiting for the young nurse who was chatting with young doctor not far from her.

"_Her time if almost up, Samil,"_ the boy heard the soft whisper in his ear and closed his eyes in sorrow.

"I wish you didn't call me on that name_,"_ he murmured to himself and turned away from the window.

Of course he knew the little girl was going to die soon, he saw the signs, but he was helpless none the less. Her soul would be lost just like many others had been in the five years he had been locked away in this dreary cell. He would not be able to help her to find the right path and she would be lost forever.

It was a sad fate for such a sweet looking girl yet the boy could only shed a lone tear for her while he watched as she wasted away in silent despair. It was his Destiny, his Curse watching in silence from afar and feeling numbing sorrow and bitterness.

His eyes wandered back to his mysterious present, still lying on the small table before him, waiting for him to open it. And why not? It was his even if it was brought by an owl. Yes, he would open his gift and take a peek inside.

His hands reached out, nimble fingers trembling all the time as they tore into the shiny paper that covered the gift. What could be? A little book? He didn't think so. It was way too small to be a book even if he had only seen very few books so far. He had some books on the lone shelf above his bed, but nothing a boy in his age would enjoy. Yet he had read all of them for several times, learning the art of Literature from them even if he couldn't understand everything those books contained.

Finally the wrapping and the ribbon disappeared revealing a thick envelope and a deck of funny cards with beautifully painted pictures on them. His hands seemed to move have their own will as they started to spread out each card on the table, each of them telling a separated story to him.

The boy watched in awe as the cards came to life in front of his eyes, caressing his fingers with their power, whispering to him in a gentle way, guiding his mind yet submitting to his will. It was an incredible feeling, an entirely new experience and he wanted to feel more of this gentleness, he wanted to embrace the power they offered to him, moulding it in a way nobody could before.

"_Well, well, well, our little Samil is all grown up now!"_

"_Oh yes, I can feel his power, such a delicious energy and such a waste!"_

"_How beautiful and how sad... such a waste..."_

"Such a waste indeed. I am not a magician."


	9. Broken Mirrors (HarryKyle Kingston)

_**Summary: **__When Kyle Kingston, a 17-year-old spoiled muggle kid gets cursed by a "weird emo chick" the Magistrate Council of Wizarding America sends their best agent to solve the case and avoid the uproar the kid's frightening resemblance to Voldemort might cause. And this agent is Harry Potter, Master of Rituals and Runes and the Saviour of the Wizarding World._

_Harry Potter/Beastly _

**Through the Eyes of Broken Mirrors**

There was a knock on his office door and Harry looked up from the massive tome he was studying, rubbing his tired eyes to chase away the blurriness caused by long hours spent hunched over an approximately 600 years old book. "Come in," he murmured, blinking his eyes open in time to see Theodore Nott walking through the door.

"We have a case," Theo said, his dark brown eyes mirroring the exhaustion Harry felt in every one of his bones.

Harry sighed and gestured his colleague and friend to sit down. "Coffee?"

"I had three in the last half an hour, so no, thank you." Rich mahogany hair fell into dulled light brown eyes as the other man shook his head, before he offered the folder in his hand to Harry. "You're not going to like this."

Harry repressed a disbelieving snort, when was the last time he liked any of their assignments? Still he opened the folder, readying himself to see another mutilated body of some moron who thought themselves above magic and laws and tried to repeat Voldemort's mistake. But instead of bloody and barely recognisable human remains he saw the face of a teenage boy with obviously magical sigils and scars all over his face. Harry looked into cobalt orbs that were staring back at him, arrogance and rage induced pain radiating from the printed gaze, before the cursed boy averted his eyes and turned his head, trying to hide into the confines of his black hood.

"Kyle Kingston," Theo offered quietly, prompting Harry to tear his gaze away from the once probably very attractive face and read the file attached to the picture. "Seventeen and disappeared four months ago."

"According to the sources he was cursed by some "weird emo chick"?" Harry frowned in confusion glancing up at the other wizard for some help.

"Her name is Kendra Hilferty or so the students said, but no one has seen her ever since the incident at the Spring Dance. The aurors suspect she is a squib."

"She can't really be a squib if she successfully managed to curse this kid," Harry pointed out, looking back at the photo. "Unless she is a–"

"Wiccan, yes." Theo nodded watching him for any reaction, but Harry only felt resignation and some relief; at least it wasn't another corpse.

"Let me guess," he said after a few moments of silence, "they want our department to try to break the curse."

Brown eyes shifted and Theo bit his lower lip. "Magistrate Gordeux wants you to break the curse."

The folder fell out of Harry's hands and landed on the book he had been examining before Theo came in with a noisy shuffle. He stared at his friend in bewilderment, looking for any sign that it was just a very bad joke, but there was no spark of hidden amusement on Nott's face; he was deadly serious.

"Why? I'm not a Curse Breaker," Harry stated the obvious.

"I don't know." But Theo wouldn't look in his eyes.

"Why?" he pressed, green eyes glowing with highly restrained power. Still Theo remained silent, staring down at his tightly entwined fingers in his lap. "I'm a Master of Rituals and Runes, why does Gordeux want me, when the building is full of capable Curse Breakers who would die to get out and do something simple for a change instead of risking their necks in ancient tombs?"

"Harry..."

"No, Theodore," Harry cut in, feeling his anger raising higher and higher like a fever that wrecked your body until it destroyed itself from inside out. "You are Gordeux's assistant, you perfectly know what's going on, and I want to know."

Theo's pale features contorted into a mask of impotent fury as almost yellow eyes snapped up to meet Harry's poison coloured ones, fighting and losing the battle of wills in the matter of seconds. "They are afraid," the slighter man gritted out through his clenched teeth. "Look at the kid and say you don't see the resemblance."

Harry glanced at the picture, trying to see what freaked his superiors out, but only saw a desperate and self-absorbed teenager whose life was ruined by his classmate because he acted like one of the biggest assholes in the world. "Kyle Kingston is a muggle," was everything he said.

"The Magistrates think there is a chance, when the transformation is done, that it would change him into something..." Theo trailed off, scowling and glaring at Harry's desk with such vulnerability that it wrenched the black haired wizard's heart.

He knew how much his friend had lost in the war, and understood his fears, after all he was the one who had to fight and in the end destroy Voldemort, literally dying for the cause. And maybe he could see the similarities between this boy and the monster that kept the whole Wizarding World in terror for nearly two decades, however, there was one big difference; beneath all the scars and sigils, Kyle Kingston still had a soul of a human, even if it was a twisted and spoiled one.

"Does Kingston have a magical core? Inactive or active?" he changed the topic to stop himself from rounding the desk and drawing Theo in his arms; it wasn't the time or place.

"The Research Department is still looking into it," came the stiff answer. "The lack of proper documentation when it comes to Muggle family trees is both astounding and infuriating according to them."

Harry looked at the wizard who appeared in his life and became his best friend when everyone else was too busy to chase the fame of being a war hero or their dreams to bother with the wreck that was Harry Potter, the Defeater of Voldemort. Theo offered a way out of the trap his power and glory got himself into, he was the one who had been there when Harry was haunted by his own death and the horrors he had to live through because of Voldemort, just like Theo was the one who had suggested what he should do with the enormous amount of magic his body contained.

"Do you want me to accept the assignment?" he inquired, watching as the other wizard's shoulder tensed then relaxed, before he raised his head to meet with Harry's gaze.

"Yes." It was simple, no evasive explanations and empty reasons, just one word; the truth.

Harry nodded, closing the folder that still lay on his desk with the hiding photo of Kyle Kingston; Harry's first assignment that concerned living people since the elimination of the last Death Eaters, Antonin Dolohov and Rabastan Lestrange, who decided to hide and start over in America after the end of the war. "Alright, I'll do it."

The small, grateful, yet guilty flash in those amber coloured eyes and the almost invisible smile made the whole mess worth the dealing with an insufferable, spoiled and angry kid.

**[Through the Eyes of Broken Mirrors]**

Venturing into the Muggle side of New York City was something Harry didn't participate in very often. He never accepted his colleagues' offers to check out Muggle beers and clubs, not caring that they thought he was both a hermit and a stuck up prick. They didn't understand, didn't feel the constant presence of decay and death hanging over the metropolis, the stench of the disease Muggles brought to Earth, steadily destroying everything around them. They were witches and wizards and yet they couldn't see the slow _danse macabre_, couldn't hear the soft, hopeless cries of Magic.

The magical population of the New World were ignorant and weak, tarnishing centuries old traditions with a nonchalant shrug of their shoulders, because only a handful of them carried the old blood that flew so strongly in Harry's veins, singing and calling, but never getting any answer. It wasn't prejudice, not when he could practically taste the contamination in every newborn wizard and witch's thinning core.

He wrinkled his nose in distaste, the pollution in the air was almost suffocating, and looked up at the modest house in front of him. It was nothing fancy or outstanding, not something you would expect from a self-conceited bastard like Rob Kingston, but then again the man was basically denying the existence of his son, locking him away far away from anything that could blemish his perfect reputation. Kingston was a disgusting, self-absorbed swine and it was far too easy to manipulate his mind to the point he did anything Harry wanted.

Experiencing the disgust and anger the man felt toward his son made Harry's blood boil and he wanted nothing more than to destroy the motherfucker's very essence for condemning his own flesh and blood for something that wasn't really they boy's fault to begin with. In the end he just got what he wanted and left, mentally preparing to spend the next who knows how many weeks with a Muggle kid who probably hated the whole world and wanted to destroy it too.

He politely knocked on the door, waiting for Kingston Junior to appear as patiently as he could. "What do you want?" came the hostile question from the other side of the door, causing Harry to roll his eyes and bite back a scathing retort.

"Your father hired me," he replied, tone controlled, expression impassive. "I'm your tutor."

"Tell my father he can go to hell," Kyle snapped.

Harry raised an unimpressed eyebrow. "Next time we meet I'll give him your heartfelt message. Now open the bloody door and let me in."

"Hell no!"

"Look, little boy, I don't have time for your bullshit. I know about your _delicate_ condition and either you let me through that door or I'll blast it open. Your choice," Harry gritted out, and was kind of glad that he had grown into a tall, broad shouldered man that could carry out his threats instead of staying a scrawny seventeen-year-old kid forever.

Everything was silent for a minute, then the lock clicked and the door slowly opened revealing a neat and tastefully decorated white foyer. Harry walked in and dropped his suitcase onto the floor, turning towards the master of the house who was watching him with a scowl, even if his blue eyes were filled with heart-breaking vulnerability. Magic was engulfing his whole presence, swirling angrily and darkly around him, slowly seeping into his pores, trying to mould, change him into something new. It wasn't evil, the wizard noted, but it was dark and velvety, alien and all too familiar at the same time. Harry's curiosity spiked, urging him to examine the sigils and the very nature of this foreign magic more closely.

"Are you finished?" Kyle snapped, his hands clenched into fists and shaking by his side. "I'm surprised my father didn't send a blind guy, but then again maybe that would have been better."

"Look kid–"

"You look barely older than me," the boy cut in angrily. "So stop calling me kid. I have a name."

"Well I didn't want to be rude and call you a Douchebag, but if you insist," Harry countered easily. "And you can relax, you're hardly the most horrible sight I've ever seen. Your mouth and eyes are pretty."

Cobalt coloured eyes widened only to narrow dangerously a moment later. "Are you fucking with me?! Or what are you, a faggot with some freaky kinks?"

Harry ignored the outburst and simply looked at the young boy in front of him, taking in the defensive stance and stony expression on the marred face. "Don't get your lacy thong in a twist, infantile brats have no appeal to me."

"Fuck you!" Kyle snarled then promptly blushed as he realised he just proved Harry right. "Bastard."

The wizard smirked; unbelievably enough he was enjoying the banter with the spoiled little prince-turned-beast. Maybe it was the heady taste of strong, pulsating magic that danced around both of them trying to seduce him. "Now that you finished listing my finest qualities, would you be so kind to show me my room?"

"Follow me."

The guest room looked just like any other part of the house, pretty and empty, bearing no personality at all. It was certainly nothing like the cosy three-bedroom flat Harry shared with Theo, but for the time being it would have to do.

Kyle was watching him from the door, lips tightly pursed as if he was afraid he would blurt out something embarrassing the moment he opened his mouth. "You can ask, you know," Harry said as he ran his index finger alongside the crest painted onto his suitcase, effectively unlocking the wards.

"Why did you accept the job?" The question was simple, yet full of insecurity and distrust; the boy's lonely, terrified side peeking through the chiselled marble prince costume, Kyle Kingston was so used to wear.

Piercing green eyes looked up to meet with guarded blue ones, and Harry thought about what he should say. His task was to break the curse and ensure that the kid wasn't turned into a broken porcelain doll by the hands of fear and discrimination. No strings, no bonds; a simple task that would end with Harry obliviating everyone who ever knew about the curse or him. Unfortunately for the Magistrates and the MLE, Harry was neither a liar nor cruel, and even if the teen deserved the curse, the bitch who did this to him not only abused her powers she was granted by Mother Magic herself, but broke the law set by the International Confederation of Wizards too.

"Close the door and come in." When the boy hesitated he rolled his eyes. "I'm not going to molest you." Kyle scowled and closed the door behind him, leaning against the wood, ready to bolt the minute Harry twitched in his way.

Kyle crossed his arms in front of his chest, trying to seem expectant instead of anxious.

"I'm here to break the curse," the wizard said matter-of-factly, causing the teenager to pale.

"You're a guy!" he exclaimed, outraged and fearful, the magic flaring up around him like blazing bonfire. "There is no way in hell that I'll fall in love with you!"

"I'm perfectly aware of the existence of my penis, but thank you for enlightening me." Harry rolled his eyes with a small sneer. Thinking about what the other just said and deciding to call Theo later about the terms of the curse. "And no one asked you to fall for me. I was sent by the Magistrate Council of Wizarding America, an organisation that deals with similar or more severe cases to yours."

"Magistrate of... what?! Are you out of your fucking mind?! Or you just enjoy mocking me?!" the kid yelled, taking a few aggressive steps towards Harry.

Harry wasn't fazed. "You were cursed by a witch, right?"

Kyle stopped in his tracks as if he was slapped. "No way..." he whispered. "There are more... things like her?"

"Of course there are others like her, although there are a lot more like me," Harry replied softly, trying to sooth the boy's frayed nerves.

"What are you?"

"A wizard." They stared at each other, not moving or even breathing, before Kyle tore his gaze away and shook his head vehemently.

"Yeah, sure." His laugh was bitter and cutting like freshly shattered glass. "Do you think I'm an idiot?" Harry didn't answer. "Well I hope you had your share of amusement, Gandalf, because I want you to get lost. Now!"

"Frankly I don't give a shit if you believe me or not," Harry spoke up, his tone leaving no place for argument. "But the thing is, I either stay here and work on breaking the bounds that hide your original form or the Magical Law Enforcement will get rid of your very memory, making your asshole father's life whole lot easier."

"I-I don't believe you," Kyle stuttered, all the while trying to act though and menacing. "My father would never allow anything to happen to me!"

"What father?" Harry knew it was too much, when the boy flinched, the scarred skin around his eyes tightening even more. Harry sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Sorry, that was uncalled for."

Kyle didn't answer.

"Just let me try to help you, okay?" the wizard tried again. "You might be a condescending little bastard, but no one deserves a curse like this."

Harry waited for his companion to say something, but the silence just stretched and stretched until nothing more than ragged breath and crackling magic filled the room. Kyle was staring out of the window, but his eyes were unfocused and Harry just knew he was reliving the night the Wiccan woman cast the spell on him, leaving the Rune Master with his own thoughts and memories.

Harry had no idea how much time could have passed before the younger boy blinked and turned back to him, seemingly more collected. "She told me it was the punishment for my cruelty," Kyle began, his voice quiet and hesitant. "Told me, she was showing the world my ugliness and... I have to find someone who would love me for me before the year ends or I stay like this forever."

"I never understood people who were so obsessed with their appearance," Harry mused, sitting down on the bed. He raised his hand when Kyle opened his mouth to retort. "Do you realise that she could have killed you? Or mutilate your body? Or maybe even rape you? Or make you her slave, ripping away your will but never your consciousness?"

"Death sure would have been better than being a revolting freak!" the teenager growled and Harry reacted before he could have stopped himself.

"Really?" Harry pressed a silver blade that materialised in his hand out of thin air into Kyle's neck before the Muggle teen could have realised what was happening to him, cutting of his air supply without an effort. "Should I end your tragic misery then? Are you so desperate to be forgotten, that you would readily throw your life away, giving it up like a lowlife loser? Are you a loser, Kyle Kingston?"

Blue eyes were wide with sheer terror as the boy tried to move, to raise his hand to grab for Harry's wrist, but magical bindings were forcing him to remain still and pressed against the wall like a lifeless marionette figurine awaiting its master's orders. "It would be over in a few minutes, do you really want that?"

Maybe it was cruel, but after fighting for his and others' lives for years, Harry couldn't tolerate a vain, pathetic cry-baby's whines about being ugly. The boy was young and had his whole life ahead of him, and yet all he could think was his body and face that was not perfect anymore. It was ridiculous and infuriating, something Harry would not allow to continue.

He held the knife against Kyle's neck for a few more seconds, just till the kid's pupils started to dilate, then stepped back and the silver knife disappeared just as quickly as it appeared while Kyle was coughing and rasping on his hands and knees, tears flowing from his eyes. "I don't want to hear another word about wanting to die, am I understood?"

Kyle coughed a few more times, his breath hoarse and ragged, but eventually he nodded his head, just before he stood up and left the room without looking at Harry. And Harry knew that he was too hard on the boy who was barley four years his junior, even if it felt like forty, but Kyle needed to learn the consequences of his actions and that just because he didn't look like Prince Charming from a fairy tale anymore, his life was far from over.

Hopefully by the time Harry was able to break the spell, if he even could break it that is, the teen would learn his lesson and become a better person who knew how to love someone and himself too.


End file.
